All I Want
by Potato19
Summary: Post DH. After Voldemort's defeat, the survivors face a recovery like no other... Harry and Hermione embark on their final year at Hogwarts, intent on discovering how it is they are supposed to fit into the Voldemort-free world. Together, they fight their various inner demons, and learn that there are indeed many things left for which to live.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Harry Potter Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Chapter One

Hermione Granger practically growled with irritation. How many times did she have to tell him to drop the seat on the toilet? Honestly, how difficult was it to remember something so _simple_? Staring down at the toilet, contemplating how desperate she actually was to use it, Hermione's thoughts started to drift. Why _was_ she awake in the middle of the night? It wasn't as if she _actually_ needed to go to the toilet.

Out of habit, Hermione made a move to flush and just managed to catch herself before the noise echoed through the house. The last thing she wanted was to wake him up; not when it had taken hours for him to finally fall asleep. Hermione, again out of habit, washed her hands and dried them on her pale blue pyjama shorts. She stepped out of the bathroom into the dark passage, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the new light.

Before she returned to her bed, she stopped to think about the real reason she was awake once more. It wasn't because she'd had a nightmare. No. Surprisingly, tonight, she'd slept peacefully. Well, it wasn't that surprising really, seeing as she had _him_ in her bed, his presence enough to calm her even in her subconscious. So that definitely wasn't it. What was it?

Admitting defeat, Hermione padded across the carpet of the passage until she reached her bedroom. She slipped through the open door and had to evade several items of clothing - some of which were actually his - to get back to her bed. Even though it was the middle of summer, she could feel an undeniable chill in the air. She was certain it had nothing to do with the actual weather though. Something made her wake up from her reverie and she was quite certain she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep until she figured it out.

Thankfully, though, he was still asleep. He did, however, look troubled, which was particularly alarming. From his position on one side of her bed, Hermione could see that he was restless. Just in the time she'd been in the bathroom, he'd managed to tangle himself up in the sheets, his arms snaking under several pillows and his t-shirt riding up to reveal the muscles of his back. And his scars.

Hermione didn't want to look but she couldn't help it. In the dim light of the moon shining through her window, he looked almost angelic. If it were not for his furrowed brow and the dark circles under his eyes, she might have thought the sight before her wasn't real. Even some few weeks into their living arrangements, she couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that he was indeed in her _bed_.

She yawned silently, which prompted her to climb back into bed, careful not to upset the firm mattress too much. Waking him up was not an option. Thankfully, he didn't stir as she shifted and settled into position, her back to him. Sometimes, she wished he would drape a hand over her and pull her towards him, just for the human contact while they both slept. She didn't want to admit that it was the type of comfort she needed. Not when he was also recovering the only way he knew how.

Even so, he usually remained on his side of the bed, whether they were in her bedroom or in the room in which he slept. Every night since his arrival, without fail, one of them found his or her way to the other's bed. It was just an understanding that they had. At least until the nightmares stopped. If they ever did.

Hermione heard him shift and she desperately tried to clear her mind as if her thoughts were too loud for him. What an absurd thought! She almost chuckled at how ridiculous she was being. Of course he would shift. He was restless. Remember, Hermione, it has nothing to do with you.

She tried, once more, to recall the reason she had woken up. There was no dream that she remembered and she was not about to chalk it down to sheer coincidence. She was tired. She could feel it, not only in her body but also in her entire existence. It just felt like so much work having to exist now that the war was over. Now she had decisions to make and people to consider. And, somehow, she had to become a normal human being once more. If she'd ever been one.

As it stood, she was failing dismally. Well, so was he. But that would have been expected. Hermione's atrocities seemed minimal compared to his and she wouldn't for a second try to understand what he went through. Though, it really was comforting knowing that she wasn't alone in the struggle to find her place in the world once more, or ever.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep. She had to get some rest. They had a full day waiting for them when the sun came up and the last thing he needed was for her to be tired and irritable, which, still, was considerable better than feeling empty. That was what he said he sometimes felt, which usually broke her heart before she conceded that she sometimes felt the same way.

A mental healer from St Mungo's even mentioned his concern at the fact that two recovering PTSD patients were living together, completely away from the magical world, but neither cared. They would survive _with_ each other, as they had done for the previous seven years. The healer had to understand that.

Minutes past and Hermione couldn't feel sleep coming to claim her. She felt caged, as if her own consciousness was trying to keep her awake so she could work through whatever reason there was for her being awake. She shut her eyes tighter, thinking back to the moment she did wake up. It hadn't been sudden. In fact, her eyes had _fluttered_ open. That _never_ happened. She normally woke with a start from some terrible nightmare or she was shaken awake by the owner of the body beside her.

Nevertheless, waking up wasn't easy for her. So what was so different about tonight? She worked her way back through the events of the night, picking at significant and insignificant moments, dissecting her interactions with him and her little chat with a lady at the grocery store in the afternoon. She had to know it was somehow linked to him. Wasn't it always?

Carefully, Hermione turned in her position so she could look at him. He looked older, like the war had aged him considerably, and there was no trace of the teenager he was supposed to be. The truth was she didn't feel much like a teenager either. They were more than that now. They were child soldiers who had managed, by some miracle, to survive.

She was tempted to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he really was there and it wasn't just her mind playing tricks on her. This was the boy whose entire existence currently mirrored her own. Losing him was not an option, as it had never been. She closed her eyes again, choosing rather to focus on the sound of him, the feel of him. He was breathing lightly, almost silently. She could also smell him. His scent was all over her bed, even swimming through the air of her bedroom.

Not that she minded. Everything about him managed to keep her calm.

Hermione forced herself not to think about the reason she was awake. Clearing her mind was something the mental healer from St Mungo's had recommended. The boy beside her had actually chuckled at the thought of Hermione Granger clearing her mind. He claimed it was impossible. Hermione hated to admit that it was true. So, she focused her mind on him. She thought about the trip they took as soon as the war was over. She thought about the devastation she felt at the truth of her parents, and she thought about the first night he'd held her until she fell asleep in his bed.

It was then that she realised that her recovery was tied to his. Somehow, they would make it through all of it, together. Somehow.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Hermione felt the sleep creeping up on her. She allowed it and, all at once, she fell into unconscious. The sleep was quiet, which was strange. She felt calm, as well as anxious. Very strange.

Before she knew it, her eyes were open again and the sunlight was shining in, merely a spotlight on the fact that she was alone. She knew he was probably somewhere in the house but it didn't stop the rising panic in her chest. She climbed out of bed, not even bothering to check herself in the mirror and went in search of him.

Hermione heard sounds coming from the kitchen and, for a split second, her mind thought that she would walk in to see her parents going about their normal morning rituals. She had to stop walking on the stairs, the remembrance of the truth of her life all too much for her. She caught her breath, thinking of something positive. Like the boy in the kitchen.

She found him standing with his back to her, his attention fully on the toaster on the counter in front of him. Hermione actually smiled at the sight of him almost willing the bread to toast that much faster.

"Hey," she sounded, sounding particularly breathless.

He turned sharply, his eyes settling on her and softening.

Hermione forced herself not to notice the way his hand tightened around the butter knife he was holding. It was never a good idea to surprise war veterans.

He gave her a halfhearted smile. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

 _By being gone, yes._ "No," she said, stepping towards him.

His eyes drifted over her body as if he was studying her, making sure nothing new had happened.

Hermione was used to it. He'd started doing it well before the war was over. It came from a place of pure love and worry, she was sure. And perhaps guilt. He had it in his mind that every terrible thing that happened to her was his fault, which she had to vehemently assure him wasn't actually the case. The boy could be stubborn.

"Do you want some toast?" he offered once he deemed her physical body to resemble that of the previous day. "Or I can make some eggs?"

Hermione knew this was how he kept himself occupied. Really, _anything_ goes when you're trying not to think of the fallen. "If I recall correctly, _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be offering _you_ breakfast today of all days. Even in bed. You're just ruining it for me."

He smiled a real smile at her. "Well, you took too long. I'm starving."

Hermione felt quite relieved by that. He'd been quite subdued the night before, mentioning that he was dreading this day above all. She fully understood but it was heartening to see that he seemed to accept that the actual day was going to occur.

Taking a few quick strides, Hermione was able to crush him in one of her signature hugs, causing him to drop the knife he was holding. His arms slipped around her waist and she felt his body relax in her hold. This was what they did for each other.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she whispered in his ear, before she released him. From the slightly dazed look on his face, Hermione felt a bit embarrassed. She stepped back. "I'm going to get ready, okay? Save me some toast." She turned on her heel and started to leave.

He called her back, his green eyes never once leaving her face. "Thank you, Hermione."

With that, she disappeared from the kitchen, determined for him not to see her unexplained tears start to fall. No, Hermione, not on his birthday.

* * *

If Hermione were to be truthful, she probably dreaded Harry's birthday more than he did. It wasn't that she didn't want him to turn eighteen - in fact, she was relieved they were the same age again - it was what had to happen on said day.

As soon as Harry and Hermione arrived at the rebuilt Burrow, the quiet of their morning was quickly swallowed up by Molly's shriek at the sight of them. Hermione risked a look at Harry who was also looking at her. Right before her eyes, she watched as he forced the darkness from his eyes and plastered on a smile. At that, she was sure this whole get together would do more harm than good.

But Molly had insisted. And Harry had been unable to say no. He did make her promise it would be low-key, but even he had to know that there wasn't a low-key bone in the Weasley matriarch's body. Although, Hermione had to admit that the getup was considerably less vibrant than usual, which she supposed had something to do with that fact that the Weasley family had, in fact, suffered a devastating loss.

Hadn't they all?

Harry gave Hermione one last - almost pleading - look before he allowed himself to be dragged away by Molly. Hermione had to smile at the whole thing, even though she started to feel a bit anxious not having him at her side. It really wasn't healthy. Ever since he'd disappeared to the Forbidden Forest and emerged as a dead, limp body; she couldn't stand the thought of not knowing where he was for even more than a minute.

Swallowing her anxiety, Hermione did the rounds. She greeted the rest of the Weasleys, bar Charlie and Percy, who were in Romania and she-didn't-care respectively. Ron was lounging in a chair, nursing a glass of some liquid that closely resembled Firewhiskey. He looked surprisingly cheerful. Okay, not surprisingly. He appeared to be handling the aftermath of the war far better than the rest of the trio. He looked well, rested and even a bit tipsy. Maybe that was how he was dealing with it all? Hermione made a mental note to keep an eye on it. It was barely noon after all.

Ron stood to greet and hug her, before she moved on to Ginny, who still carried the look of devastation across her face. War tended to do that, no matter how strong you believed you were. Look at Harry and Hermione.

"I thought the two of you wouldn't come," Ginny admitted as she and Hermione moved to stand and face the small accumulated crowd huddled in the backyard of the Burrow.

"So did I."

Ginny regarded the witch for a moment. "How is he?" she asked, her care for her Harry rising to the surface.

Hermione wasn't sure what to say, without divulging the truth about their arrangements. She didn't think that the young redhead would appreciate knowing that her once _boyfriend_ was a frequent visitor to her bed. Even if they didn't actually _do_ anything, it was still not something Hermione wanted public knowledge. Their struggle was theirs and theirs alone.

"Hermione?" Ginny prompted.

"He's working on it," she finally said. "We both are."

Ginny let out a breath. "I suppose this little party isn't helping?"

Hermione shook her head. "No it isn't, but I can see its merit. It isn't really a birthday party. It's more like a survivors get together, really. A way of everyone seeing everyone, insuring that we're all surviving, somehow, right?"

Ginny just nodded.

Hermione turned to her. "How are _you_?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'd say that I actually can't wait to go back to school just to be away from the Burrow and a constant reminder that Fred is gone, but then I remember that school is at Hogwarts, which is where he d -" she stopped suddenly. "You get what I mean."

Hermione did.

"Are you going to go back?"

Hermione blinked a few times, searching for an answer. She desperately wanted to look at Harry but she didn't want to give Ginny the impression that her decision was based on him, which it really was. "I haven't yet decided," she finally said.

Ginny accepted that and the pair fell into silence. Hermione used it to excuse herself and greet more of the guests. There were several Order members present, including the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione greeted some of her professors, who all said that they looked forward to seeing her in September. It merely added to her anxiety. What if she wasn't able to be _just_ a student anymore?

Neville, Dean and Seamus were also hanging around, each looking more uncomfortable than the other. Hermione didn't know what it was exactly but she suspected that it had something to do with the fact that they hadn't actually seen anyone else since the final day at the Battle of Hogwarts. Even at _all_ the funerals, the Golden Trio had stuck together, arms linked. Hermione didn't know if she could have survived it any other way.

But then things had changed. Ron decided that he wanted to forget the whole thing and move on. He didn't want to be around the sadness anymore, and so he stopped attending the funerals with them. Harry offered Hermione the option to stop as well, but she insisted she could handle it, which was a desperate lie. That same night, Hermione moved back into her parents' house, needing to be away. She didn't want Harry to see how hard it all was. For the next few funerals, Harry and Hermione attended them together. Then, when Hermione mentioned that she was going to Australia to find her parents, Harry insisted on going with her. Even though Hermione told him he didn't have to, she was so relieved that she didn't have to do it alone.

And, when she learned that the memory charm she'd set on her parents was irreversible, she was mightily glad Harry was with her. He'd held her while she cried and cried, gingerly taking her thoughts back to those days with just the two of them in the tent. And, while he held her and she finally slept, she did not have a nightmare. For the first time in she didn't even know how long, she had a dreamless sleep, and that was that. The mental healer from St Mungo's had blatantly refused to give her more than a few doses of Dreamless Sleep Potion, which was probably wise, Hermione had to admit. The desperation in her eyes must have been alarming.

Somehow, Harry managed to get her back to England, in her painful fugue state of utter disbelief, and he had moved into the room down the hall from hers in the very house in which she had grown up. He couldn't leave her alone. He'd made the decision himself, without even consulting her. Not that she'd even cared at the time.

That first night, after her first nightmare awoke her, she'd crawled into his bed and he'd let her. He'd held her that night, the same way it usually started. He'd hold her until she fell asleep. Then, at some point, he'd end up on one side of the bed and she on the other, like a barrier of some sort went up once the deed was done. Like rocking a baby to sleep and then leaving them in their crib.

While Hermione talked to Neville, Dean and Seamus, the hairs of the back of her neck began to prickle. Something was about to happen. She turned around just in time to hear George set off some kind of firework that had her cowering. Almost on instinct, Hermione ducked behind a chair, desperate to evade the red and green light as they shot out. Her wand was already in her hand, the muscle memory from endless battling kicking in. Her eyes immediately searched for Harry. And, when she spotted him, slightly hidden behind a table, she rushed to get to him. He was the only thing on her mind.

"Oh, Harry," she sounded, coming to kneel by his side as he rocked back and forth, his eyes staring into nothing. She was made vaguely aware of a crowd gathering around them.

"Sorry," George said, sounding quite distressed. "I didn't mean to."

Hermione put her arms around Harry, feeling his shaking body as he was hit with flashback after flashback. He was so stiff and the tension in his shoulders was painfully hard to touch. As she held him, Hermione searched the crowd for Molly's face. "He's not ready," she said to the woman, even though everyone could hear her. "Just give us time. And space. Please." Then, with a pop, they were gone, arriving at Hermione's destination in an instant.

Harry curled into a ball on the carpet of Hermione's bedroom. He was trembling, and Hermione held onto him, desperate to hold him together. If he couldn't do it, then she would do it for him.

"It's okay," she soothed, her hands running over his arms and back. "We're going to be okay. Space will make it better, and time will make it heal. It's going to get easier." She said the words to convince him, but she was really trying to convince herself.

Hermione wasn't sure how long they lay there, comforting each other in silence, but even grieving human beings had to eat. At the first sound of Harry's stomach growling, he sat up, pulling her up with him. He enclosed her in his arms one last time, even kissing her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered, before he rose to his feet.

Hermione put out her hands, and he automatically pulled her up. They both stretched, even yawning simultaneously, which made them each let out a light laugh.

"Food," Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "I feel like pizza."

He smiled. "You always feel like pizza," he pointed out. "I was thinking I could whip up some kind of soup or something. Is that okay?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Yes please."

Still smiling, he took hold of her hand and led the way down the stairs to the kitchen. He released her hand to start with whatever he was going to do and Hermione went to turn on the television.

"What do you feel like watching?" she asked.

"Do you think you could turn on the radio instead?" he asked kindly, his eyes desperate.

Hermione made quick work of turning one noise-producing device off just to turn on another. She searched through the stations until she found a song she recognised. She then made her way towards the kitchen counter, sat down on a stool and waited. She watched Harry work in complete silence. She was actually quite mesmerised by and jealous of the ease of his movements in the kitchen. She absolutely loved it when he cooked for them. It was like he was letting her in on another beautiful piece of him.

"Can I help?" she asked, her hand fidgeting.

Harry gave her a sideways look, his eyes glinting with something. Mischief? Could it be? Without a word, he set a small chopping board in front of her. He picked out a few vegetables from his own pile and placed them on the chopping board. When he handed her the knife, he said, "Chop those. And please don't cut yourself."

"I'm not entirely hopeless in the kitchen, you know," she pointed out as she got to work on a potato.

Harry didn't respond as he busied himself with an onion. They worked in silence for a while, the comfort of it too enticing, but Hermione promised him that they would make each other face it all whether they liked it or not.

So, clearing her throat, she asked the question: "What happened today, Harry?"

Harry's hands paused for a moment, more shocked by the sound of her voice than the actual question she asked. He waited while he thought about what had actually happened. "I saw the lights," he admitted. "I didn't, umm. I thought, umm, we were back there. And I just knew I had to get down. Then, once I was behind the table, I remembered that the war was over." He looked at her. "But it isn't, is it? It still lives inside of me, and I can't help feeling like whoever I was is slipping away from me. Who I want to be again is getting away from me."

Hermione stopped what she was doing and got up to hug him. He let her. They smelt so much like each other that Hermione was convinced they would end up defining their own, mutual scent. It was quite a pleasant thought as she kept her arms wrapped around his shoulders, tears threatening to fall.

When Harry released her, he looked considerably calmer. "Now finish up with my ingredients," he said, eyes glinting once more. "I need them in that pot before the water starts to boil."

The two of them worked quietly and efficiently until Harry was dishing out the wonderfully smelling soup into two separate bowls. Hermione was just finishing with the toast and carried the plate to the dining table. Harry set the bowls down on the table before rushing back to the kitchen to get some salt and pepper. Not that he thought they'd need it.

Hermione had to admit that the whole thing felt so _normal._ She'd never actually lived alone with anyone before Harry, and she wasn't counting the tent during the Horcrux hunt. She refused to count that as _living._ So she'd never expected living with Harry now to be so pleasant. Despite the whole toilet seat problem, of course.

While they ate, Harry started to talk about the song that was playing, and how it reminded him of a day at the Dursleys before he'd even started at Hogwarts. He mentioned it fondly, which worried her for a moment. He talked about being sent out into the backyard to do some gardening or something, and he could hear music coming from the neighbour's. In light of everything that was happening in his life, he clung onto that sound, using it to keep going.

When Harry looked at her, she was quite certain there were tears in her eyes. He reached across with his napkin and dabbed at them. "We're going to be okay, Hermione," he said softly. "You'll see. You and me. We can do anything."

His words did little to help with her already erupting emotions. And when he asked her to dance, she all but lost the fight to hold back her tears. She was such a mess. Had been since she'd cried at the sight of his dead, unmoving body. Hermione leaned into him, resting her head where his chest met his shoulder. She could feel his heart beating; probably the greatest reassurance there ever was. He was here with her; he was alive.

And, somehow, between the two of them, they would find some way to keep on living.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

For the most part, the days of the summer after the War went slowly for Harry and Hermione. The mental healer from St Mungo's suggested that they adopt some sort of routine, but the pair weren't particularly keen on that, which was mainly because Hermione deemed it near impossible. They didn't get nearly enough sleep to set strict bedtimes or mealtimes. Their lives, their dreams and their thoughts were too erratic to apply anything normal like a _routine_ to their everyday activities.

They did, however, fall into their own strange rhythm. The mornings were void of plans always, except for the one morning that Kingsley asked to meet with Harry at the Ministry - alone. Harry didn't talk to her about the bulk of the meeting's discussions but he did mention that they discussed a potential memorial of some sort to be erected at Hogwarts. Hermione didn't comment in fear of a fresh round of tears claiming her.

Their breakfasts were usually eaten early, because neither of them could sleep past seven o'clock in the morning, and not for a lack of trying. Lunch wasn't something they formalised though, mainly because they sometimes weren't even at the house. In the afternoons, they liked to venture out of the house - if they were feeling up to it.

They would spend hours in the Muggle library down the road from the house, just reading classic novels or poring over history books. Harry always mentioned how strange he found it that there was an entire magical history running parallel with that of the Muggles', and they had absolutely no idea.

Sometimes, they went to a mall, just to browse the windows and maybe be around people who didn't know that they were integral parts of the heroes of the Second Wizarding War. Harry liked to go to the cinema, to sit in a dark room and focus all of his attention on a screen. Hermione hadn't guessed that he would enjoy films all that much but she was learning more and more about him the more time they spent together.

Harry even went for a haircut one afternoon and the barber was very vocal when he complained about the work the last person to cut Harry's hair had done. Harry sneaked a look at Hermione who couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing. Resources had been limited in the tent.

"Is it really that bad?" she'd asked.

The barber had stared at her. "Worse."

And Harry had spent the rest of the day teasing her about it. It was all that she would allow, really, because she didn't want to tell him just how different he looked. Because he did. The boy was gone now and he was replaced by a tall, strong-jawed _man_ with a haircut to drive women crazy. Even Hermione had to admit he looked quite handsome. His hair was still, and would remain, messy but boy did he wear it well.

The nightmares were still there. They occurred fewer and farther between but even Harry's strong arms couldn't keep them away all the time. On those mornings, when she woke up to admit to him that she'd had a nightmare; a dark look usually descended over his face, as if he felt like he had failed. As if he thought he wasn't enough for her.

They were left alone in their magical exile - and recovery - until their Hogwarts' letters arrived. Harry received them from a Hogwarts Owl and set them down on the kitchen counter, intent on waiting for Hermione until he opened his. Not that he had any burning desire to read it. As far as he was concerned, he had learned all he needed to know in this world. What more could Hogwarts really teach him?

Hermione found Harry in the kitchen, like she usually did. She was, of course, still in her pyjamas, not that either of them minded. They could spend full days in their sleeping attire. But, as soon as she laid eyes on him, she could tell that something was wrong. From the way he was standing, leaning against a counter, with his mug of some hot beverage held up to his lips; she knew something was amiss. His eyes were distant.

"Harry?" she queried worriedly.

It took him a moment to focus on her. His brow creased as he studied her, taking in the appearance of her body. All was good. Well, physically, at least. He cleared his throat. "They arrived," he said softly, his eyes indicating the two letters on the counter.

Hermione's breath caught. She wondered when they would arrive and, truthfully, she was quite certain they were late. Perhaps Professor McGonagall wanted to give them more time to recover before they had to make a decision. Didn't they know that no amount of time would ever be long enough?

"Well?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry.

He raised and then dropped his shoulders. "Well what?" he asked innocently.

"Aren't you going to open your letter?"

"Aren't you going to open yours?"

She sighed. Then, looking at his mug, she asked, "Is that coffee?"

Harry acknowledged her desire to postpone opening the letters but he didn't comment. "Actually, it's tea," he said, mischief glinting in his eyes. "We're out of coffee."

Hermione had to admit that she quite loved when he used pronouns such as 'we' and 'our' when he spoke about the house. It made her feel less alone, now that she too was essentially an orphan. "That can't be," she said hotly, moving towards him. "I swear we just bought some." She took hold of his hands to bring his mug down so she could look into it and she was hit by an undeniable whiff of coffee bean. "But...?"

Harry couldn't hold back his laugh any longer. "Goodness, Hermione," he said, between laughs. "It's just coffee, you know? Your addiction is worrying."

"Oh, you," she said, slapping her palm against his chest. "I almost started crying," she said, knowing that _that_ would really make him laugh. Really, these days, anything and everything made her cry.

Harry set his mug down and put his hands on her shoulders. "You're going to have to get used to it, you know," he said seriously. "Hogwarts doesn't have coffee."

"Oh, then we're definitely not going," she said just as seriously.

Harry swallowed, dropping his hands down to his sides. "What are you saying, Hermione?"

Hermione stepped back from him, not wanting to strain too much to look him in the eye. "Do you want to go back, Harry?"

"Do you?"

Hermione swallowed. She knew that if she pretended she didn't want to, he would know. Also, he would immediately know that her indecision had _everything_ to do with him. It would just add to the guilt he so clearly already felt.

"Do you, Hermione?" he asked again. "And I want the truth."

She stepped back again, feeling her heart start to race. She wouldn't be able to recover without him if he decided he didn't want to go back with her. And how could she spend days without him, honestly? She spent every second of every day desperately having to know where he was. Even when he was just in the bathroom, she panicked. It really was very unhealthy. But then again, there were worse things with which to be obsessed.

"Tell me," he demanded somewhat kindly. "Do you or do you not want to go back for our final year?"

There, again, he used the pronoun 'our' and she very nearly admitted to him her every secret thought. Without a word, Hermione picked up her Hogwarts' letter and ripped it open, barely noticing the badge that fell to the ground.

Harry waited in silence, watching her intently. He noticed the slight upturn on the edges of her mouth, and he made his decision. "What does it say?" he asked, his impatience getting the better of him.

Hermione passed the letter to him.

"Open mine?" he asked, taking her letter. His eyes skimmed over the words, a precious smile spreading across his face. When he looked back up at Hermione, she was positively beaming. "What?"

She almost jumped with her excitement as she handed over his letter, having retrieved the badge from the floor. Now there were three sitting patiently on the kitchen counter, waiting to be acknowledged.

Harry held both letters in his hands, and Hermione watched, desperate for a reaction from him. Once he was done, he set both letters down and looked at Hermione. "Professor McGonagall really wants us back at Hogwarts, doesn't she?"

"It doesn't matter what she wants, Harry," she said strongly. "What do _you_ want?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them wanting to chance voicing the words that would disrupt whatever rhythm they currently had.

Harry broke their silence. "Okay, this is what I know," he said, meeting her gaze. "Whatever _we_ decide, it's going to be together, okay? I know that I will go with you if it's what you want, and I know that you will stay with me if that's what _I_ want."

Hermione absently nodded, knowing that he was telling the truth. They were the type of friends who would do that kind of thing for each other. As obsessed as she was with school and learning, in this moment, _he_ was her priority.

"So, maybe we don't decide right now," he suggested; "and maybe we talk to Ron as well. How does that sound?"

Hermione's gaze did not once drift from Harry's. This conversation they were having involved, quite possibly, the rest of their lives. He was right, after all. It wasn't a decision they could make lightly. And maybe it would do them well to discuss it with the mental healer from St Mungo's as well. "Okay," she eventually said.

Harry nodded once. It was probably the most word-filled conversation they'd actually had since they returned from Australia. It wasn't that they didn't talk; it was just that they didn't actually _have_ to. Over the years, they'd manage to develop such an understanding of each other that they normally didn't even need words to communicate.

Hermione clapped her hands together, signaling the end of the discussion. "So, breakfast?"

* * *

"He's late," Hermione said, checking her wristwatch for the third time.

"It's a Muggle shop," Harry said calmly. "Maybe he's lost. Give him a minute."

Hermione regarded the boy beside her. She wanted to put a hand on his thigh to tell him just how deeply she appreciated how calm he was being with all that was going on, but she stopped herself. A part of her felt that it would be too intimate of a gesture to do in public. She definitely wouldn't have hesitated if they had been at home.

Home?

When she first moved from the Burrow back to the house in which she grew up, it hadn't felt like home. But now it did? With Harry.

Always, with Harry.

"There he is," Harry said, lifting his head. "Wow, has his hair always been that red?"

Hermione bit back a laugh as she too scanned for the third member of their precious trio. Ron looked particularly distraught to her, as if being in the Muggle world was a little too foreboding. Now, _that_ made her smile.

Harry stood up to greet Ron, and then Hermione stood. When she sat down, she and Harry exchanged a worried look. He smelt like he'd been drinking, heavily. In fact, he _looked_ like he'd been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and his words were somewhat slurred as he complained about how hard it had been to find the petite bistro that Harry and Hermione had come to love.

"Ron, are you okay?" Hermione asked, her tone worried and concerned.

Ron stared at her. "Well, of course I'm not okay!" he almost yelled. "Honestly, why did the two of you want to meet _here_ of all places? Please tell me that it's important, because the sun is bloody bright."

Harry leaned back, not wanting Ron to breathe on him. He sneaked another look at Hermione, silently asking a question.

Hermione shook her head. Now was definitely not the time to mention the possibility of returning to Hogwarts come September. Now, they had to address the more important issue. "Ron," she began, sitting up straight. "Have you been drinking today?"

Ron frowned, his brows knitting together. "What?"

"Drinking, Ron," Harry spoke up. "Have you had anything to drink today?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You do know that it isn't even noon yet, right?"

"So?"

Harry took a breath, cringing at the severity of his friend's tone. "Look, we're just worried," he said calmly. Harry, always calm.

"Why?" Ron barked. "It's not like you cared before?"

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The both of you just took off, left me here all by myself. What else was I supposed to do?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me," Ron ranted on, his anger directed at Hermione. "You and Harry prancing about Australia, having a great time, while I stayed here and dealt with everything. My brother died! He died, and you just left."

Harry had to admit he was stunned. Was Ron not listening when they told him what happened in Australia? Didn't he care? "We didn't just _leave_ you," Harry said, determined to take the attention away from Hermione. She definitely didn't deserve to have _any_ of his harsh words spoken to her. "You didn't want to come, remember?"

Ron stared at him blankly. Something seemed to click in his distant memories. "Oh, right, you did ask, didn't you? I forgot about that."

Harry frowned. What was happening? "Ron, where did you come from right now?"

"What?"

"Where were you before you came here?" Harry asked, clarifying his question for the inebriated boy to understand. "Did you come from the Burrow?"

Ron started to laugh. Like, really laugh and, if they hadn't drawn attention to themselves before, they definitely had now. "Are you serious? Do you think Mum would allow _this_?" He used his hands to indicate his current state. "She'd kill me." He laughed again. "Then I'd be dead... like Fred."

Hermione stood up quite suddenly. From within her jacket, she used her wand to silence Ron. She turned to Harry. "Let's go."

Ron glared at them once he realised he couldn't speak. He folded his arms across his chest, determined not to move.

Harry wasn't having any of it. Even if they were in Muggle territory, he knew that the situation with Ron was dire. Neither he nor Hermione would forgive themselves if anything ever happened to him. It was just his way of self-soothing, and it was going to drive him right into the ground. They couldn't just sit back and watch it happen.

* * *

In the following days, Harry and Hermione had to adjust the rhythm to their days. Instead of immersing themselves in thoughtless Muggle activities in their afternoons, they rather visited Ron at St Mungo's. He didn't want to see them at first, which made Hermione cry _every_ time. She hated that she was always so emotional, but Harry always assured her that it was okay.

When Ron did finally agree to their visit, he was still rather angry with them, and he was unafraid to tell them so. The second he had started on Hermione, Harry stepped up, taking all the blame.

"I don't care if you hate me right now," Harry said strongly. "You cannot honestly sit there and tell us that _this_ was not what you needed. Look, you have to get better, Ron. For your family, for us, and for yourself. We all need you."

Ron said nothing more and Hermione bit back a sob as they were leaving. She leaned into Harry, tempted to take his hand. The magical world was different to the Muggle word. Her seeking comfort from her best friend might be twisted into something else and they both didn't need any more publicity.

George was seated in the waiting area of the Rehabilitation Wing of the hospital when they emerged from behind double doors. He stood up at the sight of the young witch and wizard. Their greetings were brief, George quick to query after his brother's wellbeing.

"He doesn't want to see you either?" Hermione asked curiously.

George shook his head. "I think he's embarrassed. Mum hasn't even left her bedroom. I didn't even know it was this bad."

"Neither did we," Harry admitted sadly. "But now he can get the help he needs. Hermione and I see a mental healer here."

"Is it helping?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Hermione decided to speak for both of them. "It's not something that can be rushed."

George understood the truth of that. He was trying to be brave in the wake of the loss of his other half. Perhaps he was just hiding it better than his little brother was. "Mum mentioned that the two of you wanted to talk to him about going back to school. What have you decided?"

Again, they exchanged a look. As soon as Ron was admitted, their decision changed. This time, though, Harry spoke for both of them. "Hermione is going back," he said, masking the pain saying it out loud caused him. "I'm staying. He needs me here."

George thought about that for a moment. "He needs _someone_ , Harry. It doesn't necessarily have to be you." When neither teenager responded, he continued. "You were both going to go back, weren't you?"

Hermione let out a breath. "We thought we deserved a normal year," she said sadly. "It'd be nice to act like the children we're supposed to be."

George just nodded his understanding. The pair before him definitely hadn't had it easy. But then, neither had his brother. "I think you should both go," George declared. "I'll keep an eye on Ron. He mentioned his interest in the joke shop anyway. Maybe I can put him to work, keep him busy."

They seemed skeptical.

George managed a smile. "You had to know that Ron was never going to go back to school," he said. "He loves you both, but not _that_ much. So you should go. He'll be fine. I'll make sure of it."

Hermione read the unmistakable determination on George's face and it settled some of the unease she was feeling. She was ready to jump at the opportunity to have Harry with her but it was still a decision that depended heavily on the outcomes of Ron's treatment. And September first was suddenly right around the corner.

"We'll think about it," Harry finally said.

Which was what Harry did. That night, it took him much longer to fall asleep. Hermione could even feel the tension in the way his arms held her. Ever since they'd decided that she would go and he would stay, the way he held her changed, like he was trying to make each moment last.

Hermione lay with her head against his chest, his heartbeat the only thing worth hearing. It was a sound she knew she would never tire of hearing; not when she had once been convinced it had disappeared from the world. While she lay there, the length of her body pressed against his; she too couldn't stop her mind from drifting. She thought about a lot of things all at once while she absently drew circles with her fingers on his t-shirt clad chest.

His breathing was ragged, as if his thoughts were messing with his respiratory system. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, knowing he would be awake. "What are you thinking about?"

Harry didn't want to tell her that he found the feel of her breath slightly ticklish, fearing that she would move away if she knew. He kept it as his precious little secret. "About Ron," he whispered back.

"Do you really not care if he hates you right now?"

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Yes. That part doesn't matter. He just needs to get better."

"Do you think he'll be okay?" she asked, fully aware that she suddenly sounded like a little girl. Her worry over her redheaded friend was threatening to get the better of her.

Harry was anticipating her tears. "I do, yes. He's got support now. Healer Patrick will help him through it."

"The same way he's helping us?" she asked, slight snark in her tone. They'd been seeing the mental healer from St Mungo's since even before they made the trip to Australia, and Hermione was quite certain that the nightmares - on those occasions that she did have them - were at the same intensity as they were that first week after the end of the war.

"I think he's helping us understand that whatever we're feeling is okay," he said softly. "We can feel the anger and the anguish, the pain, the guilt and the fear. We can feel it all and know that it's normal."

"Is it?"

Harry shifted a little and placed a gentle kiss atop her head. "What I feel, you feel. It doesn't actually matter if it's normal or not; as long as you understand me."

She took a deep breath, trying to commit to memory how safe she felt when she was in his arms. "What happens when I go back?"

Harry's breath hitched. He knew she wouldn't have been able to ask this question in the light. This was a conversation for the darkness. "You go back," he said simply. "And you have the most normal year you possibly could. Merlin, you'll probably be _so_ bored."

She let out a light laugh. "Probably." Then, steeling herself, she asked, "Do you think George was serious about what he said?"

"Yes," he said after a moment. "Well, he believes he's serious."

"Are you considering his offer?" she asked tentatively. She was certain that the offer was making Harry think that he was, essentially, _choosing_ between his two best friends and he would absolutely hate that.

"I did," he admitted. "For all of a few seconds. As much as I can't stand the thought of having you so far away; Ron needs at least one of us here. It's what has to be done, and I won't stand for your not going on account of us."

Hermione felt her first tears fill her eyes, making her vision blurry, even in the dim moonlight shining in. "I hate this."

Harry's arm tightened around her, pulling her in closer against his chest. "I hate this too."

In the dark, they _had_ to talk to each other. On any other occasion, she was sure he would have looked at her in a certain way and wordlessly told her that he agreed with her sentiment. Somehow, this was better. She needed to hear his voice, the rasp, the uncertainty and the strength all rolled into one glorious tone. Hermione learned that, after the war, Harry's declarations on how he felt or how he saw things came from a place of a lot of thought. He wasn't rash anymore, just diving in head first. No, he was calculated, calm, even severe. Anything he said carried meaning. He'd picked at his own thoughts until he deemed them worthy to speak out loud.

It was probably the one thing that showed Hermione how much he had grown. Also, a part of her was certain that he carried the knowledge of his slip-up with Voldemort's tabooed name with him. That utterance had nearly cost them dearly. Hermione still had the scar to prove it. She supposed, at the point, she and Harry had matching _Dark Marks_ on the underside of their arms. Quite the pair, weren't they?

"You'll write to me every week," Hermione stated, rather than asked. "And I'll figure out how to charm some mirrors like you and Sirius had so we can talk. And you'll visit me every Hogsmeade weekend, without fail."

Harry knew these were demands. He didn't even think to question them.

"And you'll take good care of yourself. Make sure you eat, and get sleep. Behave yourself, as well. I don't want to get home and find that you've gotten yourself into trouble now."

Harry laughed lightly, and she could feel his body shake with his mild glee. "What kind of trouble could _I_ possibly get into?"

"Well, you _are_ Harry Potter," she pointed out. "Trouble tends to seek you out and plant a bullseye on your back."

"This is true," he said softly, the amusement gone from his tone. "But I do like to think those days are behind me."

Hermione continued to draw shapes on his chest, the heat of him so comforting. In a few short days, she wouldn't have this anymore. In a few short days, she would be forced to face the nighttime without him. And the daytime. And mealtimes!

As if he could feel her distress, his hold on her tightened, if that were even possible. "I'm going to write to you every few days," he said. "I can't wait for those mirrors so we can call each other whenever we want. I'll even call during History of Magic to help keep you awake while Professor Binns goes on and on. And I'll be at every Hogsmeade weekend without fail, and I will attend every Quidditch match. Also, I'll be the one to pick you up when you come home for Christmas break, with flowers and chocolate and lemon poppyseed muffins."

Again, he called it 'home' and her heart fluttered. That, on top of everything he said, made her feel less uneasy about what was to come. She would be coming home to _him_. It was so comforting and assuring knowing that this was _their_ place. Even though Hermione didn't dare go anywhere near her parents' bedroom, she couldn't help feeling a little unwelcome in her own house. But with Harry, it felt like the place they had to be. She'd even suggested Grimmauld Place to him, which he'd quickly dismissed. Hermione had yet to ask him for his reasoning, afraid that he would go and leave her behind.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered against him, tears once again springing to her eyes.

"For what?"

"For being my family."

Harry didn't trust himself to speak. So, he just pulled her closer, buried his face in her hair and forced his own tears away. He was her family now. She'd always been his. Slowly, inaudibly, Harry whispered three little words that he was sure she wouldn't hear.

 _You are mine._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Why do you keep coming back?" Ron asked them, his tone more curious than angry. It was quite a contrast to the previous day, when Hermione was quite certain he would have thrown something at them if he had found something light enough to lift in his periphery. They were in one of the lounges in the Rehabilitation Wing of St Mungo's, with Ron seated in his own armchair and his two best friends on a couch. Harry and Hermione were sitting close enough to touch but they weren't.

"Why wouldn't we?" Harry queried thoughtfully.

Ron sat up in his armchair, regarding his two friends in earnest. He felt wary, even ashamed to broach the topic of how it was they ended up in this position. "Because you don't care about me anymore."

Hermione frowned. "You wouldn't be in here if that were true, Ronald," she said coldly. She found she was still rather irritated with him. She wholly didn't appreciate his calling their visit to Australia a 'great time.' The boy knew it was anything but. Ron might have lost his brother, but Hermione had lost her parents to the War, however willingly. And Harry, well, he'd lost just about everyone.

Not that she thought comparing losses was at all productive.

Ron fiddled with his hands in his lap. "Healer Patrick said that it was something that I had to say because I felt it at some point or the other, even if it wasn't necessarily true. I just had to tell you that I felt it."

"Well, it's not true," Harry said strongly. "We care about you. And, don't take this the wrong way, we love you."

Ron risked a smile. "I'm sorry, didn't quite catch that?"

Harry laughed. "Idiot."

Ron looked at Hermione, sensing that she was probably more angry with him than Harry was. "I'm supposed to apologise," he said softly. "Make amends of some sort. I don't think I was so far gone that I said _really_ damning things, but I really am sorry if anything I said or did offended you." He waited, expecting a response. When none came, he continued, "Mum and Ginny are supposed to visit later. Healer Patrick said that I should be able to leave by the end of the week, if all goes well."

"That's great, Ron," Harry said.

"Just in time to catch the Hogwarts Express, isn't it?"

That made Hermione shift. "Excuse me?"

Ron looked at her. "George may have mentioned that the two of you wanted to go back; that you wanted to meet up to discuss it with me."

Harry swallowed. "We did. But we've decided now."

"I know," Ron said. "George said Hermione's going and you're staying. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you staying, Harry?" Ron asked seriously. "And please don't say it's because of me."

Harry had no response to that. The truth was Ron would be the reason he stayed, but then Hermione would be the reason he went. As many times as Hermione told him to make the decision for himself; he couldn't. They were both too important to him. And he didn't think he even knew what he wanted from his own life.

All he knew was he wanted it to be simple.

And it had Hermione in it. Like, _really_ in it.

"I think you should go," Ron said, sensing that Harry's answer wouldn't arrive. "You don't have to stay for me. I know I'm not dealing with all that's happening very well, but I have my family to help me." He swallowed. "And you two have each other. It's just the way it is. Please don't make me the reason you stop helping each other recover."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, in which an entire conversation occurred. Harry eventually looked away and cleared his throat. "You don't want to go back to school?" he asked softly.

Ron laughed out loud at that. "Merlin, no! Why would _I_ want to do that?"

Hermione was gearing up to give him a Hermione-like response but Harry spoke up before she could, which had her frowning.

"To have a normal year," Harry said quickly. "To play Quidditch, pull pranks, be a kid, if that's possible. Just to ease our way into normalcy before we really have to join the adult world."

Ron didn't say anything for an indeterminable amount of time. He seemed to think over Harry's words while he stared at a spot on Harry's left shoulder. Finally, he spoke. "It sounds tempting," he admitted. "But I don't think it's for me. I need to be at home. I want to be at home, with Mum and Dad. And I _want_ to work with George in the joke shop."

Harry conceded with a nod. He still wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave him though. Neither was Hermione. Despite her selfish need to have Harry with her; it was painfully clear that Ron's demons were haunting him in a different way to the way hers were haunting her. Though, she doubted Ron would need Harry to hold him to keep the nightmares at bay.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, needing to be certain.

Ron looked at her, his eyes warm and focused. "Of course. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Trust me, I wouldn't." He risked a smile. "I want you to go. For all your reasons, Hermione. And for all of yours, Harry. We all need to recover, right? Let me recover this way, and you recover your way." He sat back. "Though, I'd reckon that going back to Hogwarts would definitely drive me to drink."

Neither Harry or Hermione was particularly amused.

Ron grinned. "What? Too soon?"

Harry smirked. "Idiot."

* * *

Hermione didn't allow herself to get excited about going back to school until she and Harry made the annual trip to Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies. Of course, Harry hadn't explicitly said he was going back but he was still leaving it open, the decision not having to be made until it was completely necessary. Hermione guessed that he didn't want to commit in case Ron suffered a setback. Harry didn't want to disappoint either of them, which was so very like him.

As they had come to expect, they were swarmed by people. The saviours of the Wizarding World couldn't just walk through the Alley without being noticed. It also didn't help that neither of them was particularly interested in giving anyone an interview on the happenings of the Final Battle. They wanted to put it all behind them.

Harry didn't answer any questions of how he killed Voldemort, even though countless people began with that question. Hermione didn't answer questions at all, mainly because they mostly involved her relationship status with the Boy-Who-Lived. How could she even begin to define what the two of them shared? It was impossible.

Harry signed autographs for the children, and they were usually kind enough to leave him alone when he asked. That particular day, he endured the attention for a lot longer than he usually would have. People were just doubly excited to see him because nobody had heard even a squeak from the dark-haired pair in quite some time. Their descent into the Muggle world made them anonymous, which was definitely needed for their ongoing recovery.

Once they were allowed to go about their business, Harry and Hermione made quick work of what they needed to do. Their first stop was Gringotts, which was always going to be eventful. Thankfully, it wasn't their first visit. And, once Hermione had explained Griphook's betrayal, the goblins didn't seem to mind that Harry and his two friends had literally torn through their precious bank. It also helped that Harry had made a generous donation to the renovations.

The goblins were wary of their presence but not particularly unpleasant. Harry did save them too, in the end. He saved _everyone_.

They visited Harry's vault and he picked up some money. Hermione noted that he gathered quite a bit of it but she didn't ask. As it stood, Harry and Hermione did things _together_ , which really meant that money was just a blurred issue. In fact, it wasn't even really an issue at all. Between the two of them, it never would be. Hermione wasn't sure _why_ she was so certain of it, but she was. Their relationship was stronger than that.

Next, they visited Madam Malkin's. Their school robes definitely didn't fit anymore. Harry had grown tall and his shoulders were broader. Hermione had grown as well, in all the right places. Harry acknowledged it but he wasn't sure what to do with the information. When he hugged her, he definitely _felt_ the difference. They also needed dress robes for their Graduation Ball, though Hermione mentioned that she might want to pick up a dress from a Muggle shop. Harry didn't care all that much so he placed an order for dress robes as well, much to the delight of the woman helping them.

Just before they visited the book shop, Harry bought them ice cream cones. It was such a childish thing to do, really. The way they sat there, licking at their vanilla and mint chocolate ship respectively and sneaking looks at each other was so blissfully disarming that Harry temporarily forgot who he was and where they were. For those moments while he raced with Hermione to see who finished first, he wasn't _the_ Harry Potter. He was just an eighteen-year-old boy enjoying an ice cream with a beautiful girl. It felt... almost... normal.

Hermione had to drag Harry into the book shop. He made her locate all the books they needed for school first. Harry gathered two of each and went to the counter to pay and shrink the books so they could all fit in his pocket. Then, with a sigh, he unleashed her in the store. Hermione moved with purpose, searching for the books she had eyed while they had been looking for their school books.

Harry stood back and watched her, quite fascinated by the ease of which she lost herself in the task of finding new and interesting books in which to bury herself. He sometimes envied her ability to disappear from this world, even though she occasionally glanced his way to make sure he was still there. As much as he tried, he just didn't see books the same way Hermione did. He would always value their merit but they were, essentially, a chore to him. He'd never tell Hermione that though. It would probably break her heart.

While Harry waited, he was approached by a small group of young witches and wizards. To Harry, they looked tiny, but one of the boys mentioned that they would be starting at Hogwarts in September. Harry couldn't believe that he had ever been _that_ small.

"And how are you feeling about it?" Harry found himself asking, suddenly curious.

There was a chorus of voices: _excited, nervous, I-want-to-start-already, scared..._

Harry looked at the young girl who said she was scared. He knelt down before her and asked, "Why are you scared?"

"B-bad things happened at Hogwarts," she said softly.

'If only she knew,' Harry thought. "That's true," he said, looking her in the eye. "But I promise nothing bad will happen while you're there."

She swallowed. "How, uh, how can you be so sure?"

He smiled kindly. "Because I'll be there."

That got quite a cheer from the small group, which only made him smile that bit more. He stood up straight and searched for Hermione. She was looking at him, an odd look on her face. Skin chalky white. She shook her head ever so slightly, set the books in her arms down and stalked towards him.

Harry, sensing something was wrong, excused himself from the little group and started towards Hermione. He met her somewhere in the Quidditch section, and she looked quite stricken. "Hermione?" he asked softly, coming to stand right in front of her. He put a hand on her forearm, mainly because drawing her into his chest would lead to rumours upon rumours.

She took a calming breath. "You were gone," she said softly, barely a whisper. "I looked, and you were gone."

Harry tried to piece together what she was saying. "But I've been here the whole time," he said, almost as softly. "I've been right here."

"I didn't see you."

Harry frowned for a moment, until he realised that he'd knelt to speak to the young witch. The bookshelves must have hidden him when she looked, probably wanting to touch base with him between lines in a book. And she hadn't seen him. If this was how she was reacting to something so trivial, how could they have ever thought either of them would survive an entire school term without the other? Honestly.

Harry squeezed her forearm. "Look at me," he said strongly. When she did, he continued, "I'm right here. I didn't go anywhere. I'm right here."

Hermione wanted to cry. This was ridiculous! How would they expect to live normal lives when the thought of Harry being out of sight for even a moment brought her to that feeling she'd felt during the Battle of Hogwarts? It wasn't as if she would never see him again, was it?

Harry sensed her tears. He stepped closer to her, washing her in his scent. He absently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with his free hand. "It's going to be okay," he said weakly, somewhat disbelieving of his own words. "Do you want to go?"

Hermione waited a beat before she nodded. The books could wait. She wanted to go somewhere where he could hold her; somehow assure her that they would be okay, that they would make it through all the pain and heartache and be stronger for it.

Harry's hand slipped down her forearm until he had hold of her hand. Without a word, he started to lead her out, feeling the fingers of her free hand close around his own forearm. She walked close to him, using him as a shield from prying eyes.

Harry didn't say a word until they were home. He unlocked the front door with such ease that Hermione's tears threatened again. Before he could even get a question out, Hermione had him in a bruising hug, rendering him completely silent. She clung to him as if her life depended on it and, in some twisted way, it probably did. Well, her sanity definitely did.

Harry's arms wrapped around her, as he tried his best to ignore the tightness of her grip on him. He hated that their day had come to this. She had been bouncing with excitement when they left that morning. Going back to school was something she looked forward to; something that made sense to her.

Hermione held onto him for close to five minutes, her left ear pressed hard against his chest so she could hear his heartbeat. When her death-grip loosened, she heard him take in a long breath. She didn't dare release him though. That wasn't an option.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered against his chest.

Harry ran a soothing hand down and then back up her back, trying to let her know that it didn't matter. There was nothing to be sorry for. "Don't apologise," he said into her hair. "I shouldn't have moved out of sight like that."

Hermione nodded her understanding of that but it didn't make her feel better. Despite his good intentions, it really didn't help that the entire reason for this big mess was really rather ridiculous.

When she'd sufficiently calmed down, Hermione stepped back from him. She wiped at her eyes before she stared at the tear stain on his shirt. There was evidence of how weak she was now that the War was over.

Harry glanced down, sensed her embarrassment and pulled out his wand. With a quick flick, the evidence was gone. He smiled at Hermione, eager to distract her. "Do you want to go through our books?"

Hermione's eyes lit up at that. She nodded. "I'll make some tea."

Harry, suddenly feeling happier by her excitement, quickly retrieved the books from his pocket. He enlarged one set and put the other aside. He didn't care much for his own at this point. He just wanted to see her lose herself in a book. It was probably one of his favourite things to watch, the way she absently bit at her bottom lip and furrowed her brow in concentration. Perfection.

Once their tea was ready, the pair settled on the couch. Harry had turned on the radio, just to fill the silence. The volume was low enough that they could talk normally and still hear each other. Harry put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back. Hermione put her legs over his and lay back against the opposite armrest of the couch. With the book in front of her, Harry couldn't see her face. He suspected that, for her, feeling him was just as good as seeing him.

As they sat, Harry absently drew lines on her shins through the denim of her jeans. It was all he allowed his mind to focus on. He snaked his fingers further up her leg, stopping just below her knee. The third time he did, she made a sound. A very pleasant sound.

Harry did it again, even sneaking further up her knee, which made her make that same sound, only much louder and for longer. It only urged him on and he became bolder as his fingers traced the curve of her knees and idled up her thighs.

"Harry," she eventually said, unable to contain herself. "Stop!"

He didn't. He moved further up her legs, loving the sound of her suppressed giggles. She even tried to swat at his hands, which only made the heavy book fall down onto her with a thud - as if a book landing on a body could make such a sound.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, trying to wriggle away from him.

He wasn't letting her. His hands jumped from her thighs to her waist, immediately setting to work on her sides. Hermione shrieked as she wriggled some more but Harry was too strong. The book even fell to the floor but she wasn't in any state of mind to care. As much as she fought her laughter, she couldn't fight him. She eventually gave in to the laughter, letting it claim her from the inside out, filling his ears with a perfect melody. He also started to laugh, more so when her head tipped back and her laughter erupted from deep within her. Her hands still fought at him but to no avail. He'd run through fire just to hear the sound of her uninhibited laughter.

Eventually, Harry stopped tickling her but his hands didn't release her sides as if he was poised for the next attack. She let out a long breath, trying to calm herself down. Her heart was beating so fast and she couldn't stop smiling even if she tried. Once she'd recovered her breathing, her eyes settled on Harry, who was looking at her in wonder.

"Hi," he said, his voice breathy and innocent.

"You," she said playfully. "Are. Terrible."

That made him smile that bit more. "What did you say?" he asked, letting his fingers move over the side of her body once more.

She squirmed, staring him down.

"What? I didn't quite catch that?" he teased.

Hermione shifted a bit more, slipping down until she was back in the position she'd adopted before the tickle attack. From there, she was able to reach out and touch him. She shifted some hair from his forehead, to reveal his scar. She brushed her fingers over it, making him shiver. "It's all going to be different now, isn't it?" she asked softly, dropping her hand to rest on her stomach, the book completely forgotten.

Harry's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "How do you mean?"

"When we go back to school," she explained, lifting her hand again and running it down the length of his arm. "We won't be able to do _this_ anymore. I can't just come to you and hug you and hold you. It's going to be different."

"It might," Harry said softly. "But then again, every year has been different."

Hermione thought about that for a moment before she nodded. "Definitely. Every year _has_ been different."

"We can talk about them," he offered. "If you want."

Hermione blinked a few times, trying to decide if that was what she actually wanted to do. With Harry, it didn't seem so scary. She thought back to their first year, which really felt like a lifetime ago. She remembered most of it fondly, particularly the time _after_ Halloween.

"First year was exciting," Harry said, noting the nostalgic look on her face. "Everything was amazing and new. I also found a place where I felt like I belonged for the first time."

"I had friends for the first time," she said softly, truthfully.

Harry looked at her curiously for a moment. Then, with a frown, he apologised.

"For what?"

"The way I acted in the beginning," he said solemnly. "Or the way I didn't say anything when Ron talked badly about you."

"Oh, Harry."

He shook his head. "No excuses make up for it, but I think I have an idea as to why I didn't." Hermione waited. "Ron was my first friend. Ever. I think I thought that if I spoke up, I wouldn't have any friends again."

Hermione touched his hair again. "Oh, Harry," she said again. "It doesn't matter now."

"I know it doesn't," he said strongly. "I just, I want you to know that I regret it. It shouldn't have taken saving you from a mountain troll for me to realise you are the friend I will _always_ need."

Hermione used every core muscle she had to sit up with her legs still over him, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. When she was settled back again, she sighed. "The entire year as a whole wasn't all that terrible," she said. "I mean, you were the youngest Seeker for... umm, a long time. And we did thwart one of Voldemort's many schemes to come back to life."

"That's always a positive," he said drily.

Hermione noticed that his hands didn't move away from her sides, even after she'd moved around so much. They seemed stuck there, and Hermione wasn't complaining. "Well, if you really look at it, as far as our school years went, it wasn't the _worst_."

Harry couldn't stop his smirk. "I know. Second year was worse."

Hermione's features darkened at the thought. She took a breath, finally about to tell him something she hadn't before. "You know, when you and Ron didn't show up on the Express, I started to think that you didn't want to be friends with me anymore," she said sadly. "It's stupid now that I know the truth, but I couldn't help it at the time. I just believed it would be the _thing_ to happen."

Harry's face fell. He hadn't known it had been like that for her. He wasn't sure what to say.

"I was just so relieved when you guys showed up, even though you were both in a heap of trouble. And, well, the year didn't really get any better after that. All the talk of the Heir of Slytherin and all. And what happened to Ginny. Merlin, that was awful!"

He cleared his throat. "What about you? You were _petrified_." Hermione said nothing. "And still your brilliance saved us all."

Hermione squeezed his upper arm. "No, Harry, yours did."

Harry wasn't in the mood to argue so he didn't. Instead, he met her gaze and tried to tell her without words that, no matter what, they would always _need_ each other to be brilliant.

"Third year was, umm, interesting to say the least," Hermione said, relaxing her body. "Time travel, Sirius and Buckbeak. It was all rather a lot to take in, really."

Harry thought back to it. Out of all of them, it was probably his favourite year, bar the unfortunate problem with his broomstick. It wasn't important now. Now that he knew that she meant well. Always, her care for him was unparalleled.

"It was kind of horrible when you and Ron weren't talking to me though," she said, her breath shallow. "I just couldn't understand why you couldn't see how dangerous it all was."

"I know," he said, feeling a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry about that by the way. I was young and stupid and all I wanted to do was fly. I'll tell you that I'm quite relieved that nobody died that year," he said seriously. "Not even Buckbeak."

"So quite a good year then?"

Harry nodded, concerned with keeping his hands still. He could feel the beat of her heart through his fingers. "Fourth year was quite possibly the worst though," he said, his eyes widening at the memory. "So. Much. Happened."

"It's when things really changed," she said, her eyes staring at a point on his shoulder. "That Tournament was inhumane, and what Voldemort did to you in the graveyard. And Ron! Merlin, I'm still irritated with him, even now!"

Harry dropped his head. "And Cedric," he whispered. "He was, I believe, the first casualty of the Second Wizarding War."

"It was so unnecessary."

Harry shook his head, trying to remove himself from his morbid thoughts. "Fifth year wasn't much better though. Nobody believed me when I said he was back."

"I believed you."

He grinned at her. "You always believe me."

She shook her head, a smile dancing on the edges of her lips. "I know. Must be something horribly wrong with me."

He ignored her jab. "The way you put together Dumbledore's Army was amazing. Did I ever tell you that? You continually amaze me."

Hermione felt her cheeks burn but she didn't say anything.

"And then the whole prophecy," he said, his eyes darkening. "And the Battle at the Ministry. I'm so sorry about that. I should have listened to you. I should have known it was a trap."

"Oh, Harry," she said softly, her fingers squeezing his arm again.

"Then Dolohov hit you with that Curse." His eyes drifted away from her, trying to banish the memory. "I couldn't even breathe. I thought you were dead and it was all my fault. I -" he stopped suddenly.

Hermione pulled him towards her because she didn't want to call on her core muscles again. She found that she quite liked to place kisses on his forehead, and on the top of his head. Really, she just liked to kiss him.

"And Ron with the brains, even though that was really his own fault. But Sirius... that was me."

Hermione's gaze softened at the sight of the pain in his eyes. Even years later, the boy was still plagued by the death of his godfather. Hermione needed to keep the conversation moving before she lost him to the darkness. "Our sixth year was definitely the worst for our relationship," she said, gently shaking her head. "I was quite awful about you and that Potions book."

Harry said nothing.

"I don't remember much else about that year, really. Just Slughorn's party and your infatuation with Ginny."

"And yours with Ron."

Hermione let out a tight laugh. "What was up with us that year?"

"I still think that you secretly had the hots for _me_ ," he said cheekily, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"You keep telling yourself that," she said, winking. "I'm glad we got over our little non-fight though. It might have been Dumbledore's death that sealed it but I knew I could _never_ leave you again."

"Seventh year wasn't even a year," he said, not wanting to talk about Dumbledore. "We're going for our seventh year now."

Hermione smiled widely. Did he just say what she thought he said? "We are, aren't we?"

"And it's going to be the best year yet. I promise."

"How can you be so sure?"

Harry thought back to the young witch from the book shop. "Because I'll be there." Then, with mischief glinting in his eyes, he started on her sides again, gaining a glorious shriek enough to set his heart alight.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Harry and Hermione visited Ron at the Burrow the night before they were scheduled to leave for Hogwarts. Ginny, of course, was there and George dropped by to have dinner with them. He wanted to prove to Harry and Hermione that he had the situation with Ron under control. Mrs Weasley even agreed to remove any form of alcohol from the house, much to the chagrin of her husband. He complained with half a smile. He knew all too well the dangers Ron was facing with a relapse.

That night, they didn't talk about the drinking or about Voldemort or even about Hogwarts. Hermione wouldn't be able to tell a third party what they did talk about, but she didn't care. In fact, she was able to forget that they all had such a dark and dangerous past. She was able to exist in easy laughter as the survivors of the War did their best to forget that one of their missing members would forever remain missing.

At a certain point in the evening, Ginny took hold of Hermione's hand and disappeared into the Burrow with her. Ron and Harry merely exchanged a puzzled look before they returned their attention to George and one of his joke shop stories. They really were hilarious.

With the passing seconds out of Hermione's presence, Harry started to fidget. Even if he knew she was somewhere in the Burrow, he couldn't help the anxiety he felt deep in his gut. He was even starting to lose focus on the conversation happening before him.

Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.

"Hey, mate?" Ron said, getting Harry's attention. "All right?"

Harry had to make a conscious effort to remove his gaze from the point he had last seen Hermione. "Fine. Just thinking."

"Are you looking forward to having to study again?" he asked, grinning at his friend.

Harry managed a smile. "Sort of," he admitted. "I think I might just try this year."

"What were you doing all the other years?" Mrs Weasley asked accusingly, though she did look rather amused.

"Trying to stay alive," he said, trying a joke but it all just came out wrong. The table descended into such awkward silence that even George and his wisecracks wouldn't have been enough to pull them out.

Thankfully, Ginny and Hermione returned. Harry immediately looked at her face, her body, making sure that she was still intact. In fact, she looked quite flushed, like whatever she and Ginny had spoken about embarrassed her. Any other time, he would have smiled but he still felt the heaviness of his comment hanging in the air.

Hermione moved to sit down right beside Harry on the bench at the kitchen table. Without a word, she took hold of his one hand in both of hers and placed them on her thigh. She would have leaned into him, maybe pecked his cheek and whispered reassuring words against his ear, but she remained tense. The fact that they were in the Burrow was not lost on her.

Somehow, Ginny managed to pull them out of their funk, and the table managed to get back to their laughter. So long as Hermione was by his side, Harry was sure he could do anything. Nothing had changed in all the time they'd known each other.

Just before midnight, Hermione suggested that it was time for Harry and Hermione to leave. They had a big day coming up.

"You'll write, right?" Hermione said to Ron, pulling him into a tight hug. "Every week."

Ron groaned as she released him. " _Every_ week?"

"Without fail."

Ron looked at Harry, silently asking for some help.

Harry shrugged. "You heard the girl. What did you expect?"

Ron sighed. "I'll definitely try, but I can't make any promises."

Harry and Ron shared a short hug. "I expect you at all my Quidditch matches," he said, sounding almost as stern as Hermione did about writing to them.

George put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We'll be there. That's a promise."

While Harry continued saying his farewells to the Weasley parents and Ginny, Hermione pulled George aside to talk about, well, Ron. It wasn't as if Ron or Harry didn't know that was what they were doing, but both boys managed to ignore it enough to joke about how Harry was definitely going to take up the mantle as the resident prankster of Hogwarts.

Harry found he was quite eager to find out who else would be returning to school. According to Professor McGonagall's letter, majority of the students would probably be in a lower year, mainly because the previous school year at Hogwarts had been so disrupted that she was sure nobody had learned a thing. What she did offer, though, was for students to participate in competency tests, to determine their level of understanding on that year's work. If they passed significantly well, they would be allowed to move on to the next year.

It was all so exciting and confusing all at the same time, and Harry was looking forward to all of it.

"You ready to go?" Hermione asked when she returned from her conversation with George.

Harry absently stepped towards her. He nodded once, and he took hold of her hand, entwining their fingers. They said one final goodbye to the gathered Weasley family, and then they were gone.

Ginny stood with her brothers a while, watching the space Harry and Hermione had just vacated. She didn't know how she felt about the evening, or about the following day. It was all pretty new to her as well.

"You did a good thing, Ron," George said kindly. "Letting them go like that."

"Did I?" he asked sadly, also staring at the spot his two friends had vacated.

"I know you're going to miss them."

Ron took a breath. "It's for the greater good, isn't it? They _have_ to be together."

Ginny sighed. "Whether they know the truth of it or not."

* * *

Harry, as always, turned on the radio once they entered the house. After he pulled Hermione into a hug, she disappeared into the kitchen to start on tea. This was the last night they could exist in their little world before they were in public again.

They settled onto the couch in silence. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Hermione snuggled into him with such ease. It was so perfect she even forgot about the tea in front of them.

Harry had to ask the question. "Hermione, where did you and Ginny disappear to this evening?" he asked curiously.

Hermione let out a long breath and Harry felt her body stiffen. "I told her I couldn't be gone too long. Is that why you were out-of-sorts when we came back?"

Harry shook his head. "What did you two do? You looked, umm, flustered."

"Are you trying to ask if Ginny and I made passionate love right in the middle of dinner?" Hermione asked with a chuckle. At Harry's mortified look, she laughed fully. "No, we just talked."

"About?"

"You."

Harry's breath caught.

"I know you don't like it when I talk about you, and you have to know that I wasn't all that comfortable with it either. But Ginny has it in her mind that we're a couple, which we're not."

"We're not," he agreed.

"But then she pointed out that we do kind of _act_ like a couple," she said, her voice growing softer as she spoke. "And I had to concede that much."

Harry couldn't help but frown. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione sat up to look at him, her gaze meeting his. "Look at us, Harry," she said softly. "You and me, we're so entwined in everything, there wouldn't be any space for anyone new."

"I don't need anyone new," he said quickly.

"You think you don't, but it can't be just me forever. Especially if we're not, umm, really a couple. What happens when you find some girl you like? What then? I'm sure she's not going to be too happy about us sharing a bed."

Harry just stared at her, bringing his own arms down to his sides. "What are you saying, Hermione? You want it to stop? Us, whatever we have going on here... don't you want it anymore?"

She swallowed. "All I want is for us to be aware. We're so reliant on each other. I just don't want to make it impossible for the other to find love."

Harry's rate of breathing was increasing. He knew they weren't dating, but it all sounded very much like a breakup. "I'm not ready to find love," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Neither am I," she concluded, returning to his side, forcing his arms out of their lock and slipping her hand into his. "Just promise me that we won't get in the way if love happens to find us."

Harry could do that. "I promise." He opened up his arm again and she snuggled in closer than before. "It's really going to be different now, isn't it?"

"Mmm," Hermione sounded as she closed her eyes. "But better."

That night was the first time in almost two months that they slept in their separate beds, each of them too stubborn to seek out comfort from the nightmares.

* * *

Harry was still thinking about his and Hermione's conversation when they finally settled into their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. They were alone, which was perfectly fine with him. In all honesty, he would prefer spending _all_ of his time with _just_ Hermione Granger. The previous night had been terrible; he was sure his entire demeanor proved as much. Harry'd barely slept and the fact that Hermione was determined to make them less reliant on each other made him quite certain he would _never_ have another good sleep again.

Once the train started to move, Harry felt the finality of their decision for the first time. They were going back to Hogwarts. There was no backing out now.

From her position right beside him, Hermione turned to look at him. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her eyes studying his face.

Harry took a breath. "Fine. You?"

"Fine."

Harry turned to her. "You're lying."

"So are you."

He let out a light laugh. "Okay, just tell me why you thought that heading out alone today of all days was a good idea?"

She tried to hide her embarrassment. "I had to get a few things," she said. "And I kind of needed to do it alone."

That made Harry's brows knit together. "But you're okay?"

She nodded vigorously. "Of course. It wasn't anything bad or anything." She sighed heavily. "The truth is that I wanted to get you a present."

"What?" he asked, his eyes snapping towards her. "Hermione, you really didn't need to do that."

"I know," she said quickly. "I wanted to. And, don't worry, I got a little something for myself as well."

That piqued his interest. "Did you bring it with you? Can I see?"

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment as she made a decision. Once she reached it, she rose to her feet. Because the two of them were sharing one of the seats of the compartment, their trunks were on the other seat. She made quick work of unlocking her own and pulling out quite a large packet. She handed it to Harry who placed it in his lap, finding it particularly heavy.

"What is this?" Harry asked, watching her pull out a piece of paper and a notebook. Harry felt his heart start to race as she started to get more and more excited about whatever treasure she was about to reveal.

Once she was seated next to him again, she told him to take the item out of the packet. He did it carefully. It seemed very precious, and Harry didn't want to destroy it by having it slip to the floor or something. Slowly and assuredly, Harry removed the dark green typewriter from its packet and marveled at it.

"Amazing," he found himself saying.

Hermione took that as a sign to allow her excitement to bubble in Hermione-like fashion. "Right! I saw it and I just _had_ to have it! I thought, you know, Hogwarts doesn't support electricity so it made sense to stick to mechanical."

Harry continued to stare at the machine in his lap, trying to take it all in. It wasn't brand new by a long-shot, but that was definitely part of its charm. His eyes trained over each of the letters, trying to memorise every ridge. "It's beautiful, Hermione, but _why_ do you have it? Are you planning on using it to hand in all your assignments?"

She looked aghast at that question. "Of course not. I don't think the professors would even know what to do with typed work. I want to use it to write our story."

Harry was sure he didn't hear correctly. "Excuse me?"

Hermione felt her cheeks start to burn from the way he was looking at her. "I want to write about this year," she said decidedly. "Is that okay with you?"

"Like a journal?"

She thought about that, her face becoming expressionless for a moment. Then, her nose crinkled and her smile was back. "No, not like a journal. Journals, I reckon, are private things. This, people will read. You'll read it. And, I suspect, they'll be so much of you in it anyway."

Harry swallowed. "You said _people_ will read it?"

She nodded. "People like the Weasleys," she said, clearing that up for him. "And Hagrid, Professor McGonagall. I don't know. It's not for the _public_ , if that's what you're so worried about."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Okay."

She looked surprised. "Okay? I thought I would have to do more convincing."

"No. I'm curious about how you'll see this year," he admitted. "And I think it will also help with the recovery, now that you no longer need me to hold you."

Hermione took note of his remark but she didn't comment. She hadn't managed to keep the nightmares at bay the night before and she knew it was because he wasn't with her. It was just something they needed to get used to. They _were_ going back to school.

Harry sat back and stared out the windows at the green trees rolling past. He felt peaceful, which was not a feeling he would usually use to describe Hogwarts. There was usually a blanket of fear covering the finest school for witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Eventually he turned back to Hermione, who was picking at the corner of the piece of paper she held with her fingernails. From her profile, he could tell that she was thinking hard about something. He knew that his words weren't fair, but he couldn't help the hurt he felt.

A nasty part of his brain even let him think that she finally came to her senses and realised that Harry Potter was bad news.

"What are you going to call it?" Harry asked.

"What?" she asked, being pulled out of her reverie. "What am I going to call what?"

"The story. Do you have a name for it yet?"

Hermione didn't want to sound too eager but she honestly couldn't help it. She'd been dying to tell him since she brought out the typewriter. "I want to call it 'The Golden Duo.'"

Harry said nothing.

Hermione couldn't handle the silence. "Do you hate it? It's stupid, I know. Tell me if you hate it. Oh Merlin, you hate it, don't you?"

Then, without warning, Harry burst out laughing. "Are you kidding? I love it! I mean, it's _terrible_ but I totally love it."

Hermione didn't show her relief just yet. "You're sure? It isn't too... I don't know? Is it too much?"

Harry put an arm around her and drew her into a hug. "It's perfect, Hermione. Absolutely perfect."

Hermione finally allowed herself to enjoy the moment. She placed a hand on his chest to steady herself as the train rounded a bend. They fell into silence that Harry wanted to enjoy for as long as possible. But, a little while later, Hermione glanced at her wrist. "It's almost time," she said.

Harry nodded once before he returned the typewriter to its packet. Then he placed it back in Hermione's trunk. For a moment, he stood, unmoving. When he turned to look at Hermione, she was watching him intently.

"Everything okay, Harry?"

He looked somber. "Ron isn't here."

Hermione took hold of his hand and pulled him back down to sit next to her. "I know. Not physically, at least."

Harry just nodded dumbly.

"The truth is, well, that present that I went to get for you: Ron, Ginny and I all pitched in," she explained. "It will be at school when we get there. It was Ron's idea, really. You should know that, in case you don't like it."

Harry had to laugh at that. Hermione's smile was interrupted by a gentle knock on their compartment door. Hermione recognised the two girls standing outside as fifth and sixth year Ravenclaw prefects Professor McGonagall had written to them about. While Hermione opened the door, Harry moved their trunks out of the way.

"The prefects' carriage, Harry," Hermione said, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. She picked up the notebook she retrieved from her trunk and left with the two girls.

"Oh, right," he said, following Hermione out of the compartment. He took a long, calming breath. It was the first time he would interact with the other students, even if there were just the prefects. He would be fine. Hermione was there.

Once they were settled, Harry and Hermione were able to focus on the task before them, right until they arrived at Hogsmeade. The two barely had time to change into their robes; they'd lost track of time in the meeting with the twenty four other students. Harry pinned on Hermione's badge for her, and Hermione did the same for him, with both of his. It was like a seal of some sort. Hermione couldn't explain it, but she felt it.

Harry and Hermione were some of the last students to disembark the train, mainly because they didn't want to deal with all the other students until they absolutely had to. They rode in a carriage just two of them and, much to Harry's great contagious and childish joy, were met by Hagrid.

As Hermione watched Harry get scooped up into Hagrid's arms, she had a flashback to the day she'd seen Harry dead in those same arms. Her breath hitched and she felt her heart beating in her head. Harry.

Hagrid looked past Harry to Hermione and didn't miss the look of terror on her face. "Oi, Hermione, aren't yeh gonna give meh a hug?"

Hermione just managed to recover as she stumbled towards Hagrid. She gave Harry a pointed look before she buried herself in Hagrid's impossibly large coat. Somewhat discreetly, she reached her hand out for Harry. He immediately took it, even stepping towards her, until the three of them ended up in an awkward group hug.

"I'm here," Harry said so only Hermione could hear. "I'm here."

Hagrid missed the exchange entirely and proceeded to herd them into the Castle. It wasn't the first time they had been back at Hogwarts since the Battle, but it was the first time they'd seen it so... put together again. Hermione was under no illusion that the Castle didn't require more work, but it was heartening to see that the front hall didn't look like it hadn't even existed some three months prior.

A hush seemed to fall over the students when Harry and Hermione entered the Great Hall. Harry was sure majority had heard that the two of them were on the train, but he hadn't expected _this_. His eyes drifted towards the front of the Hall where the teachers were seated. In his mind, he expected to see Professor Dumbledore at the centre of the table. Only, he didn't. In fact, the large chair was empty.

"Mr Potter, Mrs Granger."

Harry turned around to see Professor McGonagall entering the Great Hall behind them.

"Just the students I wanted to see."

Harry grinned at her, unable to contain himself. "Evening, Professor."

Hermione was also smiling, though not as widely as Harry. She was still a little shaken by her flashback. "Professor."

"I'm so glad you're here," she said, not nearly as calm as she ought to be. "I wish we could talk but unfortunately this _is_ the Welcoming Feast. And we've got the Sorting to do. But we will talk," she made a point of saying.

Both Harry and Hermione nodded.

"Now, find your seats, and let me bring the little ones in." She disappeared back out the doors and the two teenagers returned their attentions to the masses of students. Well, not _masses_ , so to say. The tables looked quite empty, given that they were usually bursting at the seams. It looked like a lot of students decided not to come back.

'A lot of the others were dead,' Harry thought darkly.

"There's Neville," Hermione said excitedly, grabbing the sleeve of his robes and pulling him towards the end of the Gryffindor table.

Neville immediately stood to embrace them both. "Boy am I glad to see you two," he said. He was so _Neville_ that Hermione had to hug him again. The three of them sat down together on one side of the table. Neither one even considered the idea of going to sit on the other side of the table even if Ginny and Luna were seated on the other side, looking quite relieved that the two of them had finally arrived.

"We thought you two might just stay on the train and hope it took you back to London," Ginny said, a bit sadly. Then, as if remembering that they indeed hadn't, she smiled brightly. "I'm excited for this year's Sorting. Aren't you?"

Harry just nodded. Hermione, Luna and Ginny proceeded to talk some more but Harry tuned them out, as he took the time to look at the extent of the Great Hall again. He couldn't help but remember how it had acted as an emergency triage centre just some months ago. He could almost imagine seeing Tonks' and Lupin's dead bodies and it made him shudder. He felt Hermione's hand slip into his, even as she continued to talk to Luna and Ginny. It was sometimes uncanny how good she was at picking up when he needed comfort.

Neville noticed Harry gazing around. "I think people are still scared," he said to Harry. "I think they'll be an increase in students after the first two weeks. Professor McGonagall has allowed for it. I think it's a good plan. We can't expect things to run smoothly from the get-go."

Harry understood that. Although, as far as he could tell, things seemed to be going well. Just then, the doors of the Great Hall opened and in flowed Professor McGonagall, closely followed by Professor Flitwick. After a small break in procession, the first first year stepped through the doors, looking around in wonder. Harry remembered what it was like to see the enchanted ceiling for the first time. He too found himself looking up.

Slowly, the first years shuffled further into the Hall.

"They're so tiny," Hermione said, her voice closer to Harry that he remembered. He didn't turn to look but he could feel the heat of her body on his back. She was almost leaning against him as they both had their bodies turned to watch the newest Hogwarts students be introduced to the beauty of Hogwarts.

Harry's eyes drifted past the walking group until they settled on a mop of blonde hair sitting alone at the Slytherin table. Truthfully, Harry didn't want to acknowledge that he had, in fact, seen Draco Malfoy, but he couldn't avoid it now. His body tensed at the sight of him and Hermione definitely noticed. He heard her take in a sharp breath when her gaze followed his.

"He won't bother us," Harry found himself saying.

"How can you be so sure?" Hermione asked softly, her breath reaching up to the back of his ear.

"I don't know. I just am."

She shook her head. "Harry, he isn't like us. The fact that we - you - saved his life isn't going to mean anything to him. And the fact that his mother defied Voldemort by telling him you were dead isn't going to help either."

"He won't bother us, Hermione. He's not a prefect for a reason, you know."

"That's probably because McGonagall probably had Slughorn appoint someone else. The last thing she wants is to create situations where conflict could occur."

This time, Harry did look at her, a mischievous smile on his face. "If she didn't want conflict, she should have picked a different Head Girl."

Hermione admonished him by slapping his arm but she couldn't stop her blush. Especially after that first meeting. She was practically bursting at the seams to get started on implementing her ideas about the entire prefects' system.

With that, Harry turned his attention to the front of the Hall where Flitwick was explaining the Sorting process and the Sorting Hat to the first years. Harry absently searched through the back of the heads of the students, searching from the young witch he had encountered in the book shop at Diagon Alley. It was pointless, he conceded. He wouldn't recognise the back of her head; he'd never even seen it.

Hermione was quite enthusiastic about her cheering whenever one of the students was sorted into Gryffindor. Harry even gave her a curious look, to which she just shrugged, clapping her hands together again.

Harry looked to the new student to be sorted. He recognised him as one of the wizards from the book shop. He was the one who was nervous. Harry found he was quite curious to see where he ended up, though he was irritated he had missed his name.

"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat shouted.

The Ravenclaw table applauded their newest member, and the little boy scurried off, looking relieved.

Harry paid better attention from then on, and he positively beamed when it was the young witch's turn. Thompson, Zara. Harry squeezed Hermione's hand in anticipation and was surprisingly quite disappointed when the Sorting Hat finally decided.

"Hufflepuff."

In the back of Harry's mind, he thought that this was probably the year of the Hufflepuff.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione whispered, her breath reaching his ear again.

He sighed. "I kind of wanted her to be in Gryffindor," he admitted. "She's the one I was telling you about from the book shop."

Hermione nodded. "Well, it isn't like you can't keep an eye on her just because she's not in our House, Harry. You _are_ Head Boy, you know?"

Harry leaned back into her, nudging her slightly. "You know that this really means you can't get rid of me, as much as you want to."

Any other time, Hermione might have been amused, but she definitely didn't miss the underlying snark in his tone. He still wasn't up to speed on what she had tried to point out to him. Even the way they were holding hands could have been misconstrued by potential suitors. Didn't he understand that all she wanted was for him to be happy? Better yet, why was he _refusing_ to understand?

Once the sorting was over, McGonagall rose. She smiled such a content smile that even Harry felt it reach him right at the end of the Gryffindor table. She wasn't as animated as Dumbledore usually was at the start of the year but nobody expected her to be. She said a few words, mentioning the Forbidden Forest, the list of forbidden items on Filch's office door and then finally welcomed the new and returning students alike. Then, she presented the feast and Harry had to admit that it was rather impressive, even for Hogwarts.

"I bet Ron wishes he were here right now," Ginny said, dishing some vegetables onto her plate.

Harry and Hermione had to agree with that, as they too tucked into the meal. Harry could feel the eyes on his back but he just managed to ignore it. Hermione's presence was enough.

For a while, nobody said anything. In fact, they were so comfortable in their silence that nobody even noticed that Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones had approached them.

"Do you mind if we sit?" Hannah asked softly.

It was Neville who recovered first. "Of course not," he said, doing his best not to sound unsure.

Hannah and Susan quietly walked to the other side of the table and slipped in beside Ginny. Again, nobody said anything but it was less comfortable. Harry didn't find it strange that there were other houses at the Gryffindor table. He was quite sure that those _rules_ were abandoned by now. Things were going to be different at Hogwarts from now on.

Though, he'd probably have a heart attack if ever a Slytherin came to sit with them.

Eventually, Harry looked at the two girls, to find Hannah watching him. It wasn't a Hermione kind of stare but soft just the same. He cleared his throat when she didn't look away. "I'm sorry about your mother," he said softly, and her face twitched.

Then, sensing his sincerity, she gave him a kind smile. "Thank you, Harry."

Ginny took the opportunity to question Harry about Quidditch tryouts and Hermione had to point out that they'd barely finished their first meal and she was already going on about it. From there, Neville, Ginny, even Susan proceeded to shoot facts at Hermione about how amazing and precious to school life Quidditch was.

Harry could only relax and be amused by it all. He wanted to believe it would be a good year. If this was any indication of how it would go, he wasn't too worried.

But he wouldn't forget the feeling of being watched.

How could he? It was a part of his life.

Almost as much as Hermione Granger was.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harry stood in the doorway to the seventh year dormitory in complete silence. It took Neville coming up behind him to propel him forward just enough to allow his fellow Gryffindor through.

Neville moved straight to his trunk at the end of his bed and started to scrimmage through it for a set of pyjamas. Eventually, he had to stop when he noticed that Harry hadn't moved. He cautiously stood up straight, his eyes settling on the famous wizard.

"Harry?" he asked, softly, wary of interrupting the boy's thoughts. "Are you okay?"

Harry took his time turning his attention to Neville. "It just feels different, doesn't it?"

Neville sighed. "Yeah, it does." He paused. "But what did we expect? Ron, Dean and Seamus aren't coming back," he said sadly. "Kingsley _had_ to go and say that we could become Aurors without our N.E.W.T.S. if we fought in the Battle."

That made Harry's face turn curious. "Why aren't _you_ becoming an Auror?" he asked.

"Why aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. The only person he'd spoken to about any of this was Hermione. But now Hermione was in an entirely different room that he couldn't even access when the nightmares became too much. No wonder she said they should be aware of how reliant on each other they were. It was always going to be like this. Merlin. Why did they think coming back to Hogwarts would be a good idea? The anxiety was threatening to eat him from the inside out.

"I reckon I'm not cut out to be an Auror," Neville said, sounding reserved.

"You're a warrior, Neville," Harry said softly. Then, softly, he said, "I think I just don't want to be involved in another duel for the rest of my life," he said. "I'm sick of it. Even the sight of the lights sends me back to the Battle and I don't think I could do it for a living. Even if it _is_ what my father wanted to be."

Neville regarded his friend carefully. They were both, essentially, orphans, but at least Neville had had his grandmother growing up. He didn't know much about Harry's childhood and he hadn't thought to ask, but he knew it was bad. Neville also understood whatever Harry felt about his father. It was partly the same reason why Neville had used his father's wand for as long as he did.

"Do you think we're going to be joined by any sixth years?" Harry asked, wanting to change the subject.

"From what I heard, only one person from the sixth year managed to pass the competency exam. At least in Gryffindor."

"Who?"

Neville grinned. "Take a wild guess."

Harry had to think hard about the Gryffindor sixth years. Really, it had been a long time since he'd had to think of them. Then, suddenly, it hit him quite hard and he almost laughed at how stupid he was. "Ginny."

Neville nodded. "I can't say I'm surprised. She handled herself quite superbly last year."

Harry sobered at that. He moved to stand directly in front of Neville. "I never did thank you for making sure they all stayed safe," he said seriously, even putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I know it couldn't have been easy, and I didn't even give you any warning. I'm sorry about that. And I'm sorry that I - we - weren't here to keep up the fight. You deserved more from us."

Neville wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, he cleared his throat and said, "You did what you had to do. So did I. We knew there had to be an important reason why you didn't come back. I know you wouldn't have just left us without having one."

Harry had this strange urge to hug Neville, but a knock on the door stopped him.

"Hey lover-boys," Ginny said, smiling at them quite suggestively. Harry immediately dropped his hands.

Hermione entered behind her. "Nice digs," she said, taking a look around. "Everything okay?" she asked, looking at Harry. At his nod, she moved towards him. From his eyes, she could tell there were profound thoughts running through his mind. She stood at his side, not quite close enough to touch but still close enough. She looked at Neville. "Are you settling in okay?"

Neville shrugged. "Harry and I have determined that it just _feels_ different without the other boys."

"We'll have sleepovers," Ginny suggested, only half joking.

Hermione had to laugh at that, and Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

Ginny looked at them curiously. "What? What did I say?"

Hermione managed to recover. "Nothing. Inside joke, that's all. I'll tell you another time."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at them for a moment. Then her gaze softened. "Come on, Hermione, we came here for a reason, remember?"

"Oh right." Hermione looked at Harry. "Remember that present I mentioned." Harry said nothing. "Well, it's here." She took hold of his hand and started to lead him out of the dorm. Once they were out the door, Harry stopped her. "What?"

"Neville," he whispered.

Hermione just nodded her head and released his hand. A moment later, Harry was back with Neville, though he didn't retake her hand. She started walking again, managing to catch up with Ginny as they reached the Gryffindor common room. It just seemed so empty even if there were students still up and about.

Ginny and Hermione walked in front of the boys, which really was required, seeing as they were the only two who even knew where they were going. Harry figured out that they were headed West but he didn't think to ask why. He doubted either girl would tell him anyway.

When they reached the West Tower, it quickly became apparent to Harry that they were going to the Owlery. He couldn't stop the pang of longing descend on his chest as he thought of his dear familiar, Hedwig. Why would they bring him _here_?

Before they actually entered the Owlery, Hermione stopped to look at him. Ginny was also looking at him, her expression soft and caring.

"Harry," Ginny said softly. "We know you've lost a lot in this world, and we don't for a second think we could replace what you no longer have."

Hermione continued. "But you are back at Hogwarts, and you _do_ need a familiar. Crookshanks needs someone to bother." She smiled kindly, refraining from mentioning Scabbers. "So, when I went out this morning, I stopped by Diagon Alley to pick him up."

Harry frowned. "Him?"

Both Ginny and Hermione turned to look into the Owlery and, indeed, there, perched in an archway, was an owl that did not belong. It wasn't the standard grey or brown owl that Hogwarts used. This owl was pitch black, dark as the night sky. Really, if the moon hadn't been so bright; Harry was sure he wouldn't have been able to see the animal.

The owl was looking at him, his yellow eyes surprisingly thoughtful. Harry immediately thought of Hedwig and his heart started to ache. This owl was the _exact_ opposite of his trusted familiar.

When Harry didn't say anything, Ginny spoke up. "If you don't like it, just remember that it was Ron's idea."

Harry gave her a sheepish look before his gaze returned to the owl that was still studying him, sizing up its new owner. Harry took a steady step towards the animal and smiled when it made a sound that Harry recognised to be one of approval. He nodded his head once before he turned his attention back to the two girls.

"He's perfect," he said, filling with unexplained emotion. "Thank you."

Hermione couldn't hold herself back. She flung her arms around Harry out of sheer relief. She kept the hug short, releasing him and stepping back, trying to hide her embarrassment.

Ginny just smiled as she too hugged Harry, though much less forcefully.

"Thank you," Harry said again. "Really, I, just, thanks." He looked away, afraid he might start to cry. He cleared his throat. "What's his name?"

"He's yours, Harry," Hermione said, trying to use her voice to ground him. "You have to name him."

Harry looked at the owl again. Cautiously, he moved toward it, not wanting it to take off and fly away. "Hello," he said softly. "I'm Harry." The owl blinked once. Harry noted that he was proud, somewhat majestic. He was a leader among the owls, even if he had just arrived. When he hooted, Harry smiled. "You need a strong name," he said thoughtfully. "Keyon?" To Harry's amazement, the owl seemed to shake his head. "No. Thaddeus?" He nodded. "Thaddeus it is."

The owl hooted his approval once more and Harry couldn't stop his smile.

"Welcome to the family."

Harry was still smiling by the time they made it back to the Gryffindor common room. It was relatively empty, save for a few over-excited returning students. Hermione didn't let Harry disappear up the boys' staircase when Neville said he was going to bed. She didn't have to use words to let him know that she wanted him to sit a while.

Harry moved to the couch opposite the fire and settled down while Hermione bid Ginny goodnight. He quietly waited until Hermione found her way back to his side, sitting as close as she dared in the public room.

"Tell me the truth," Hermione said softly. "Do you like your present or not? Did we go too far?"

Harry waited a beat before he responded. "I do," he told her truthfully. "It will take some getting used to. I didn't know if I ever wanted another owl, but I'm mightily glad you had a part to play in it."

She let out a relieved breath. "I was quite worried. Healer Patrick said that it wasn't a good idea to make too many changes all at once."

"Well, we just threw that advice straight to hell, didn't we?"

Hermione let out a light laugh. "We're figuring it out as we go along."

"Now, isn't that the perfect caption for my life," he said, only slightly amused.

Hermione shifted closer to him, almost pressing the side of her body against his. "How did you sleep last night?" she found herself asking.

Harry couldn't help but frown. "Fine. You?"

"Fine."

"You're lying."

"So are you."

He sighed. "I don't know how telling you that it was probably the worst night's sleep I've had since we got back from Australia is going to change anything, Hermione." He barely managed to keep the frustration out of his voice and she definitely picked up on it.

"Harry," she breathed. "Don't be mad at me."

At those words, his frustration dissipated. He took hold of one of her hands and squeezed assuringly. "I'm not mad at _you_. I'm mad at the situation."

"It's going to get better," she said, trying to pass her confidence in her own statement on to him. "Are you going to stay in the seventh year dorm?" she asked him curiously. "You do know that the Head Boy's room is further up the stairs."

Admittedly, Harry had given the entire situation quite a bit of thought. "If I don't get to sleep with you anymore, I think I might just sleep better knowing that there is, in fact, _someone_ in the room."

"You're not going to be climbing into Neville's bed, are you?"

He chuckled. "The nightmares could get really bad," he said, sounding amused. "But I mentioned that I'd move about, I guess. I like the idea of having my own space but I don't like the idea of being alone."

Hermione understood that. "I suppose I'll try to do the same thing," she said softly. "It's just that Parvati and Eloise barely shut up as it is. Ginny will probably end up in my room, just now she hexes them."

Harry looked at her, smirking.

"There you go again... Ginny and I are not about to make passionate love, Potter," she huffed, only slightly annoyed. It helped that she was smiling. "You and I have slept in the same bed plenty of times and nothing's ever happened. What makes you think Ginny and I are any different?"

He was quick with a response, secretly wanting to make her squirm. "Because you could probably handle Ginny."

"But I couldn't handle you?"

"I'm a wildcat, Hermione," he said seriously, his gaze meeting and holding hers. His eyes were glinting with unspent mischief. "Can't be tamed."

That made her laugh gloriously, the sound genuine as it floated through the air. Harry hung onto that sound when he finally said goodnight to her, drawing her into a tight hug at the bottom of the stairs. He hung on for a lot longer than normal, doing his best to memorise the feel of her. It would prove to be useless, he was sure. Even as he got changed into his pyjamas, he knew it was going to be a painfully long night.

* * *

Hermione was waiting in the common room when Harry came down from his dorm for breakfast. She looked about as well as he felt. Without even greeting him, she moved straight into his waiting arms, resting her head on the spot where his chest met his shoulder like she always did. When Harry released her, he gave her body the once over. It took longer, now that they hadn't spent the night in the same bed. Once he was satisfied, they left together for breakfast in the Great Hall.

The pair were some of the first students to arrive, seeing as it was still quite early. And it was the first day of classes.

As soon as McGonagall spotted her two Head students, she rose from her seat at the teachers' table. Hermione noticed the Headmistress first. Harry was too preoccupied trying to figure out a way to avoid eating breakfast without Hermione noticing.

"Good morning, Professor," Hermione said, as brightly as she could manage after such little sleep.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said, her brow only slightly creased at the sight of her students. They looked weary, utterly spent. Didn't they get any sleep? A part of her knew that it hadn't been on purpose. They looked too forlorn to have stayed up late in excitement. "Mr Potter."

Harry gave her a polite smile. "Professor."

"Firstly, I should commend you for your actions on the train yesterday. No incidents were reported, am I correct?"

Hermione nodded. "We've got a good group of prefects this year. I hope it's a signpost for the rest of the year."

"As do I."

Hermione shifted on the bench to turn herself to face their Headmistress better. "How are you feeling about the new year?" she asked cautiously.

McGonagall took a deep breath. Was she really going to confess her worries to a student? Then again, Hermione Granger was not just _any_ student. "To be honest, I thought that there would be more students returning than have. And even then, I think this turnout has a lot to do with the fact that the two of you are here."

Hermione nodded her understanding. "Neville mentioned a grace period?"

"Ah, yes. We decided, along with the Ministry, that it would be best to give the students and their parents a few days to get comfortable with the idea of Hogwarts reopening. Do you think that was a bad idea?"

Hermione masked her frown at the Professor's question. Why did it matter what Hermione thought? "No, I think it's a good idea. Hogwarts is one of the best schools in the world. We need to give people time to believe that again."

A silence fell over them that Hermione couldn't describe. It was one of understanding, nostalgia and fear of what was to come.

Hermione brought them out of it rather quickly. "We haven't had a chance to meet the new Gryffindor Head of House," she said. "What is she like? As a teacher, I mean."

That made McGonagall smile. Trust Miss Granger to talk about her studies. "She has great references. Unfortunately, I haven't had much time to spend with her but Professor Flitwick assures me that she's settling in well. I trust you and your fellow Gryffindors will make the transition easier for her." She waited for their nods, before she continued. "I never did hear why Mr Weasley hasn't joined us back at Hogwarts?"

It was Hermione who responded. They had both discussed it with Ron and decided that it wouldn't do well to add any worries to those McGonagall already had to deal with. "It just wasn't for him," Hermione said calmly, the lie tasting acidic on her tongue. "We all know school has never been Ron's favourite thing."

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully, not commenting on the fact that she suspected her Head Girl was telling an untruth. Whatever the reason was, it had to be something important. "I do have other things I wish to discuss with the both of you," McGonagall eventually said; "but in more of a private setting. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon? We could have tea in my office?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, in which an entire conversation occurred. It was a moment that subconsciously shut out Professor McGonagall from their little world and the aged teacher could only look on in wonder. Of course, it would have been a decision they would make together, but the way they did it was curious and intriguing. They didn't utter a word.

Harry responded for both teenagers, prying his eyes away from Hermione. "We'd love to, Professor. We'll be along once Hermione is done with Arithmancy."

The professor tilted her head. "You have no idea what your schedules are," she pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "Hermione has had Arithmancy practicals every Tuesday afternoon for as long as I can remember," he said, his tone even. His knowledge of Hermione's schedule didn't seem to faze either teenager. "I doubt that's changed. It's my understanding that Professor Vector is rather picky about her timetable."

McGonagall regarded them one more time, her eyes darting between the two. She'd been under no illusions that the War would have changed them, but she definitely didn't expect _this_. Whatever _this_ even was. "Well, then, I will see you both tomorrow then." She didn't even wait for a response as she gathered the bottom of her robes and walked back to the teachers' table. Once she was seated, she risked a look back in their direction. They had shifted closer together, as if the conversation they'd just had with the Professor took its toll on them, though said professor had no clue as to why that would be.

McGonagall watched on curiously. Their actions weren't layered in romance but the deep love and care they seemed to have for each other was clear for all to see. It was almost too overwhelming, radiating off of them, making them untouchable. A person would have to be brave to approach them, or to even consider being a part of whatever it was that they had going on. She started to think that that may be the reason Mr Weasley didn't return, but even she knew that wasn't enough to stop the redhead.

There was something, she was sure. She was also sure of something between her two Head students, that even they weren't yet aware of. McGonagall didn't even know why it was something she noticed. No. It was definitely there to be seen.

What baffled her the most was that the two of them didn't seem to see it.

* * *

Their first day went slowly and with great ease. Owing to the severely diminished numbers in their current year, all four houses had all their classes together, which would have been particularly unpleasant before the end of Voldemort. Because, as it were, the Slytherin students didn't so much as utter words out of place.

Harry and Hermione made up two of the six enrolled Gryffindor seventh years. While Hermione and Ginny were joined by Parvati Patil and Eloise Midgen. Hufflepuff had only four students, none of which emerged from the year below them. That wasn't surprising. What was though, at least to Hermione, was that Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan had returned, which was something she mentioned to Harry. He, of course, just shrugged.

"I'd suspect a lot of people are surprised _I'm_ here," he said, nudging her slightly as they sat side by side in Charms with Professor Flitwick, Hogwarts' official new Deputy Headmaster. Earlier that morning, they'd met the new Gryffindor Head of House, who also happened to be their new Transfiguration Professor. Neither of them knew what to make of Professor Austina Adams quite yet. She appeared nice enough, her hair whiter white and her eyes piercing blue. She'd barely let her gaze linger over her two most famous students as she handed their schedules out that morning.

Harry was quick to mention that it was something that he appreciated.

Ravenclaw wasn't surprising to Hermione. Nearly all the students in their current class were from the previous year, save for Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner. That made sense to her. Trust the Ravenclaw students to be able to keep up with their studies, even in a War, as most of them managed to graduate. It actually amazed her really, though Padma mentioned that quite a few students resorted to private tutoring. Nobody blamed them.

But it was definitely the Slytherins that Hermione paid most attention to. She just couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Draco Malfoy had even been allowed back into school. It just didn't seem right, not after everything the boy had put them all through. He'd made decisions in the end, and so many people had or had nearly died as a result of them. How could the Ministry allow this? How could McGonagall?

Harry tried not to think about it too much. In some way, he was convinced that he and Draco had some sort of - albeit silent - understanding. After what had happened in the Room of Requirement, and in the Forbidden Forest with his mother; Harry was sure that they would be able to exist without any more conflict.

Hermione wasn't so sure. A Malfoy would always be a Malfoy.

"At least he's got Zabini to keep him grounded," Hermione pointed out. "And Daphne, I suppose. Although, it doesn't even look like he's actually talking to anyone at all."

Harry nodded absently, his mind split between listening to Hermione and pretending to listen to Flitwick.

"You aren't even listening to me," she reprimanded, hitting his arm that rested on the table in front of them.

He made a point of looking at her. "You've never been one to talk so much in class. I'm _trying_ to pay attention here, Hermione," he muttered, his eyes glinting a perfect green.

She gave him an amusedly dirty look. "You and I could do this in our sleep, Harry Potter," she whispered. "And I would much rather talk to you, thank you very much."

He gave her the type of lop-sided smile that she hadn't seen in quite some time - since before the beginning of the Hunt. She couldn't stop herself from thinking how the world could have been robbed of such a glorious smile. The sight of it filled her with warmth and grief, and she resisted the urge to bury him in a Hermione-approved bone-crushing hug or, worse, burst into tears.

Harry seemed to sense her distress and his smile quickly faded, replaced with a look of concern. Without a word, his fingers enclosed around hers, silently begging her not to release her tears. Not yet, anyway.

Hermione couldn't help it.

Harry shifted his body to block her from Professor Flitwick's line of sight. Her head dropped and she rested her forehead on Harry's back, near his shoulder blade as she fought for control. Merely the fact that he moved to conceal her just added to her need to cry.

Harry looked at their Professor, alarmed. Flitwick didn't seem to notice the disposition of the two students sitting to his left, nearest the front. He was going on and on about something Harry definitely wasn't paying attention to. His body was tense with panic. He didn't want anyone to see Hermione cry; didn't want anyone to take pity on her or look down on her thinking she was weak. No. He didn't want any of that.

Hermione's sobs were quiet, partially muffled by Harry's robes. He held her hand so tightly, the desperation to protect her from unwanted attention transmitting through his fingers. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to cry. She was willing it to stop but the flow just wouldn't let up. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes and she let out a slight wail, which made Harry's body stiffen more, if that were even possible.

Without much more thought, Harry shifted positions. He leaned back and immediately put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. Hermione buried her face in the place where his shoulder, arm and chest came together, his robes catching every sound she made. She was able to breathe him in and almost forget that they were in fact sitting in their Charms classroom, in the presence of their professor and peers.

Harry didn't waste any time worrying over the curious glances that came their way. Even Professor Flitwick lost his position in his notes, which might have been amusing to Harry on any other day. All Harry did was give a slight shake of his head and the class resumed. There was nothing to see.

Hermione stayed where she was, face hidden from the world, right until the end of the lesson. Even then, Harry waited for all the other students and the professor to leave before he even thought of making a move. Ginny lingered a while and he gave her an appreciative look but this was something only he could handle. And, had it been the other way around; only Hermione could handle him as well.

"Hermione," Harry said softly. "Please, Hermione, look at me."

It took the sound of his voice for her to realise how tight her grip on his waist actually was. Slowly, she released him, bringing her arms back to her sides. She used her hands to wipe away her tears, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry."

Harry looked at her accusingly. It wasn't even the first time she'd apologised in a situation like this. He had to put an end to it. "Don't you apologise, Hermione," he said hotly. "The second you start apologising for all of this is the second I also have to."

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "I just wish I had better control of it. I don't want to embarrass you."

Harry frowned. "Is that what you think?"

"Well, you did move to shield me," she pointed out. "I just assume that you didn't want anybody to see me."

"I didn't," he admitted. "But not because I was embarrassed. I don't want you to have to deal with all the questions. You don't have to explain yourself to anyone, Hermione. Not even me. I just don't want people to have something to talk about."

"You don't want me to be seen as weak?"

Harry turned his body to face her fully, forcing her to change her grip on his shoulder. "Hermione, you are not weak. You are probably the strongest person I've ever known. If the fact that you have nightmares and cry occasionally makes you weak then what does that make me?"

She swallowed, eventually running her hand from his shoulder down his back. "Okay, then can I say thank you?"

He gave her a trademark smirk, his eyes glinting in mischief. "That's what I would expect."

She laughed lightly. "Honestly, what am I ever going to do with you?"

"Never leave me."

Hermione ran her hand back up his back. "You know that this is not my leaving you, Harry," she tried to tell him. "I need you. I'm always going to need you, but that doesn't mean that I can't need other people too."

"Am I not enough?"

Hermione made quick work of wrapping him tightly in her arms, squeezing the air right out of him. She couldn't even think of the words to say to convey just how preposterous an idea that was. "Harry, for right now, you're _everything_ I need, but we have to think about the future as well."

"Now that we have one."

They didn't speak more about it that day.

All in all, Hermione would probably describe it as a subdued day. Students were just following the motions, getting back into the routine of mundane schedules and homework. There wasn't any more need to be alert as you walked the corridors or even travel in groups in case some wayward teacher-Death-Eater cornered you or some nasty Slytherin-wannabe-Death-Eaters grabbed hold of you.

Hogwarts was at its safest. And, Harry hated to admit, its most boring.

Hermione shot him a death stare when he mentioned how uneventful their first day had actually been. Of course, he didn't mention the tears from Charms and he probably never would. That was what they did for each other.

"Admit it, Hermione," Harry muttered, relaxing even further into the couch they shared. They were in the Prefects' common room, just the two of them. Hermione preferred it to the Gryffindor common room at this point because the chances of their being alone was higher. There were less prefects than there were Gryffindor students.

Hermione was exhausted. After their late night patrol, she'd pulled him into the common room, determined to spend some much needed time alone with him. It'd been a particularly long day, even though he complained that nothing noteworthy happened.

Harry was lying down on his back on the main couch. On the end where his feet were, he'd made space for Hermione, who sat with her legs over his, the underside of her thighs keeping his shins warm.

"I won't admit it," Hermione said, huffing slightly. "Honestly, I'd be happy for a normal year. I thought that's what we wanted, isn't it?"

Harry looked at her, his eyes twinkling as he prepared himself for whatever thing he was about to say. "I'll say, Hermione. With you, I'd never get a normal year."

She let out a laugh of disbelief, swatting his leg in the process. "You're one to talk. Ever since I met you, you've been nothing but trouble."

"You bring it out of me, you know? There's _just_ something about you."

She stared at him, her eyes boring into him, daring him to continue.

He did. "Whatever it is, though, I totally love it. Wouldn't change a thing."

She eyed him. "You really wouldn't change anything?"

Harry nodded. "Nothing," he said confidently. "Why would I? You're perfect just the way you are."

She gave him a look that clearly told him she didn't believe a word he said. "Not even my ability to cry at the worst times?"

"That's my favourite trait," he said, laughing lightly. "Honestly, it's the part I love the most."

"Is it really?" Hermione asked, her tone more serious than she intended.

Harry noticed. "Probably not," he admitted truthfully. "I could think of a few things about you I love more."

She couldn't look at him. "Are you going to tell me?"

He shook his head. "No," he said softly. "You're going to have to guess them."

"Right now?"

He shrugged. "I doubt you could," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "I don't think they're enough years left for us to live for you name every little thing I could possibly love about you."

Hermione's blush hit her hard, turning her beet red. She didn't even know what she _could_ say to something like that. So she decided to say nothing.

After all, it was merely his presence she craved.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Even though Harry wouldn't explicitly admit it, he wasn't looking forward to their afternoon tea with Professor McGonagall. He was quite certain that the tenured professor was going to ask them questions with which they weren't particularly comfortable. Hermione repeatedly told him that it would be okay but he didn't believe her and he was unafraid to tell her so.

"Harry, stop acting like we have something to hide," she told him as they walked towards the Headmistress' office once she was let out of Arithmancy. He'd met her outside the classroom, yielding a lemon and poppyseed muffin. She quietly ate it as they made their way across the Castle.

"Hermione, are you forgetting that we do in fact have things to hide? _Many_ things."

"Well, stop acting like we do. You'll just make her suspicious. And you know as well as I do that Ron wouldn't want us to reveal his secrets. I sure as hell don't want _anybody_ to know what you and I get up to when nobody is around."

Harry just looked at her, a little perplexed as to where the sudden fire came from. "You say that like it's something of which you're ashamed."

Hermione let out an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm a little touchy. The sleep wasn't so great."

"You're telling me," he muttered under his breath.

"This is Professor McGonagall, Harry," she said, as if that would be enough to calm him. "She already knows things. And I highly suspect that whatever she wants to talk to us about has very little to do with our duties as Head Boy and Head Girl."

"What _do_ you think it's about?"

She thought about it for a moment. "It might be about Ron, or it might be her way of letting us know that we've got her support."

"For what?"

"I don't know, Harry. Maybe I don't know everything! Did you ever think about that?" she said quite harshly, irritation and lack-of-sleep getting the better of her.

Harry pressed his lips together, not wanting to show her how much her outburst stung. He knew it was just the tiredness and the stress of the ongoing nightmares talking. Even so, he was managing to keep it together; why wasn't she?

Hermione stopped walking quite suddenly. "Oh, Harry," she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't stop walking and he didn't look at her. "Can we just get this meeting over with please?"

Harry led the way to the Headmistress' Gargoyle, suddenly wishing desperately that he could go back to his dorm and bury his head under a heavy pillow. He'd take the nightmares if he could just get some _sleep_. Only two days in and they were already jumping down each other's throats.

The entire meeting with McGonagall was tense. The Headmistress didn't ask what was wrong with them even though she desperately wanted to. It seemed like such a contrast compared to the way they acted the day before. They barely looked at each other. She did notice that they both looked exhausted, which was something she couldn't pass up.

Harry's vague response that they were still getting used to having to wake up so early did little to calm the professor, though she did notice Hermione's slight nod at Harry's words. McGonagall did tell them that her door was always open, if ever they needed to talk. She also queried after Ron, which Hermione handled carefully, claiming that Ron would most likely be present for the first Quidditch match of the season and she'd be able to get the explanation right from the source. Hermione had actually finished her sentence sounding rather impatient, which actually made Harry feel better, surprisingly and guiltily. It was just a relief to know that he wasn't the only one at which she was snapping.

McGonagall made a note to keep a close eye on her Head Girl. The Headmistress had to remember that these were children who had seen far too many things for one lifetime. She couldn't expect them to just pick up where they left off. Even she hadn't been able to do that. Even being in this office that still felt so much like Albus' was too much to handle. And, from the way Harry was looking around, probably noticing all the slight changes; he was feeling it too.

Once she dismissed them, she asked for Harry to stay a moment longer. As anxious as it made him being out of Hermione's presence; he remained seated, waiting. It was a short conversation, in which McGonagall asked first about Hermione and her wellbeing.

Harry, of course, wasn't going to divulge their secrets. He wouldn't even know where to begin to explain. "I've got it under control," he said, his tone strong and confident. "We're working on it."

McGonagall nodded once. "And you, Mr Potter? Coming back here can't be easy?"

"It's not," he admitted. "But it's where Hermione is, so it's where I am. I think the routine will be good for us." He thought about Healer Patrick for a moment, even risking a smile. They'd managed to find the _routine_ he kept raving about.

"You aren't getting much sleep, are you?"

Harry shrugged. "Is it that obvious?"

"At least to me. I've spent the last seven years trying to keep up with the three of you."

"Still haven't caught us yet though, have you, Professor?"

She laughed lightly. "I still have time."

They all did.

Thanks to Harry Potter and his friends, they had a lot more time to live their lives. It was a truth McGonagall was determined not to allow anyone to forget. She proceeded to mention the memorial that Kingsley spoke about, and where he thought it would look best on the Hogwarts' grounds. Harry vowed to think about it, though he wasn't too comfortable with having to offer his opinion.

This was a boy who was bruised and beaten from such a young age, constantly fighting for the right to live a decent life. At this point, it was all McGonagall wanted for him. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Harry James Potter.

Hermione was waiting for Harry when he emerged from behind the gargoyle. She was leaning against the wall, not willing to waste any of her precious energy standing up straight. To her, Harry looked oddly calm when he moved towards her, his eyes distant and unfocused. She had questions in her eyes and Harry quickly told her all that McGonagall had asked and how he'd responded as they started on their way back to the Gryffindor common room. There were no secrets between them, and definitely no lies.

"I was quite rude to her, wasn't I?"

"No more than you are to me," he muttered and received a punch to the arm for his troubles. She could turn violent as quickly as the tears could spring to her eyes. This was a highly emotional Hermione Granger.

"I should probably apologise to her, shouldn't I?"

"I don't think she's taking it too personally," he said, shrugging slightly. "She guessed that we're not getting that much sleep. Makes you snappy and makes me sulky."

"You do get quite sulky."

"Well, at least I don't bite off the head of every poor innocent within reach," he countered.

Hermione laughed at that, nudging him with her elbow. "Okay, okay. I get it, I'm a lady monster when I'm sleep deprived. Maybe we should talk to Madam Pomfrey about getting some Dreamless Sleep."

Harry stopped walking and looked at her. "I thought you said we weren't going to do that anymore."

"I know what I said, Harry, but the lack of sleep is making this whole thing unpleasant," she said sadly. "How are we supposed to enjoy our last year when we can barely have a conversation without bringing up how damn tired we are?"

"I could do with a sleepover," he said, risking a smile.

"I told you we're not doing that anymore."

"Well, you seem to be going back on what you said about the Dreamless Sleep, so how is this any different?"

Hermione stared daggers at him. "It is different and you know it. Stop twisting what I say."

"I'm not twisting anything," he said hotly. "Merlin, Hermione, it's been two days and you're already acting snarky. You think a Dreamless Sleep Potion is going to help you in the long run, you go ahead, but I promise you it won't. But _I_ will. I'm healthier anyway. Can't get addicted to me. We're supposed to be helping each other. That's why we're here, remember? That's why _I'm_ here."

Hermione just glared at him, her anger bubbling. Eventually, it fell away. She was too tired to maintain it. Without a word, she took hold of his hand and led the way to the Prefects' common room. Only Michael Corner was seated at a table, scribbling something on a piece of parchment. He raised his head at the sight of them, his eyes locking on their clasped hands. Hermione immediately let Harry's hand go but the Ravenclaw prefect had seen. He smiled softly, knowingly, before he returned his attention to his work.

"Do you see what I mean?" Hermione asked Harry pointedly.

Harry didn't respond. He didn't want to have this argument again. He dropped down onto the couch and Hermione joined him. She rested her head on his shoulder and, within a minute, they were both asleep.

* * *

"You do it."

Ginny glared at Neville as the two Gryffindor prefects stood over their two friends. "No, you're the one who dragged me up here to get them. _You_ do it."

Neville shook his head, stepping back from the couch that sat Harry and Hermione. "Ginny, please. They'll be nicer to you than to me."

Ginny stood firm, even folding her arms across her front. "I'm not waking them up, Neville. Forget it."

"They'll miss dinner."

"This is Harry and Hermione we're talking about here. I don't think that will bother them too much."

Neville looked worried. "Ginny?"

The redheaded witch let out a frustrated breath. "We're not waking them up! End of discussion, okay? You can't even tell me that you haven't noticed that they're completely exhausted. I don't think that they sleep."

"I noticed," he admitted. "I just thought it was more to do with being back here is all. Walking the haunted halls even makes me weary."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "This is different. There's something they're not telling us."

"Well, maybe if you woke them up; they'd tell you," Neville muttered.

Ginny turned to look at him. "Don't get irritated with me just because you don't have the guts to wake them up now that we're here."

Neville was about to say something when movement in front of him caught his attention. They were waking up. "See what you did," he said to Ginny as he stepped back again. They both waited and watched as their two friends came out of deep unconsciousness.

"Hi," Harry said when he noticed the standing pair. He rubbed his eyes of sleep as he sat up. "What's up, guys?"

"We were wondering if you two were going to have dinner," Neville managed to get out.

Hermione also sat up straight, even stretching. "What time is it?" she asked, yawning as she did.

"Food time," Harry said, practically jumping to his feet. "I'm starving!" He pulled Hermione up before she could even register that his hands were on her upper arms. They stayed on her when she almost fell back onto the couch, eventually pulling her towards him where she stayed.

Ginny watched the interaction with keen interest. They didn't even realise what they were doing, or that there were standing so impossibly close. It was just normal for them and Ginny wasn't able to determine if that was a good or bad thing. It would help if just _one_ of them would figure _it_ out and become more aware.

Ginny was convinced it would be Harry first, but Neville, Luna and Ron were sure it would be Hermione.

Really, at this point, Ginny didn't even care. One of them _had_ to figure it out before it was too late.

* * *

The most exciting thing to happen during their first week back would have to be the Quidditch tryouts. As expected, the Gryffindor tryouts had quite an audience, though Hermione Granger was the only one remotely important to Harry. She'd been to every one, as far as he could remember - even if she had known he was a shoe-in for the Seeker position every year. She even came to all his practices, let alone the matches. He liked to tease her about being the leader of the Potter fan club, and she never once denied it.

As it was not his first time as Quidditch Captain, Harry easily slipped into the role. He was pleased to see that he had quite a few students trying out, though he suspected that a few were just there to spend some time with the Boy-Who-Lived. Also, he noted, that nobody dared try out for the position of Seeker. That Gryffindor would have to be the _bravest_ to attempt to go up against the one and only Harry James Potter.

Ginny quickly and rather easily booked her spot as a Chaser. Harry had her try out as a formality, and as an example to all the newcomers. All in all, the entire tryout went rather well. Harry consulted Ginny - his Deputy - when making the final cuts. He even sneaked a look up at Hermione who was still sitting up in the stands, though now with Neville beside her. She used her eyes to convey her opinions of the potential members of the new team.

Because it was a rather new team. Not young, per se, but a bit inexperienced. Ginny pulled Demelza Robins aside to discuss who they would easily work with in the third Chaser position and Harry allowed them to do it. Now that Katie was gone, the prized position held a lot of weight. Not just anyone could replace Katie Bell, one of Gryffindor's longest serving Quidditch players.

Jimmy Peakes and Richie Coote both claimed their positions as Beaters by accurately knocking both Ginny and Harry about on their brooms during a practice run, which was really good enough for the Captain. What worried him the most was the position of Keeper. Where was Ronald Weasley when you needed him?

Harry noted down several players to review for substitute positions before he called for attention.

"We have two students trying out for Keeper today," he said, raising his voice slightly. He unknowingly puffed out his chest and Hermione would later tell him that several girls sitting in the stands swooned unintelligibly. He looked from the Fifth Year Gryffindor boy to the Sixth Year Gryffindor girl. They were both first timers and he was quite interested to see if either of them could thwart Ginny Weasley. "If you'd please assume your positions. Ginny and Demelza will coordinate strikes at both of you. The one to produce the most saves will be awarded the position of Keeper."

With fervent nods, all those involved took to their brooms. Harry flew highest of all and hovered in the centre of the pitch so he could see all that happened.

It didn't take very long. In fact, by the time one of the trial Keepers had made a total of seven saves, Harry called an end to proceedings. It was clear to everyone who would be their next Keeper. Her name was Emily Rowan and she was fierce. Harry hated to admit that even Ron wouldn't have stood a chance going up against her. He made a mental note to ask her why she'd never tried out before.

As Harry stood and watched his team, he determined that he definitely had his work cut out for him if they were going to be ready for their first match against Ravenclaw. He was just grateful that they wouldn't be starting with Slytherin, as they usually did. Professor McGonagall mentioned that the ordinary schedule of matches was reversed. Harry didn't ask what the reason was and, frankly, he didn't actually care.

Hermione and Neville were waiting for Harry and Ginny when they left the Quidditch pitch.

"What do you think?" Harry asked them. "Think we can win the Cup this year?"

"With you, definitely."

Harry grinned at Hermione. "You have to say that."

"I don't _have_ to say anything, Harry," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I say what I want and I mean what I say."

Wasn't that the truth?

This was another situation that Ginny watched with expectancy. She met Neville's gaze and they exchanged a knowing smile. "Come on," Ginny said to the pair. "I'm starving."

Harry grinned at her. "I swear, if I had a knut for every time I heard a Weasley say that..."

Ginny poked him in the ribs. "Don't be mean. I'm the reason we're going to win the Cup this year!"

"No, I am," he countered, rubbing at his abdomen where the aftereffects of her probe lingered. "Hermione even said so."

"Well, Hermione is biased to a fault," Ginny pointed out.

Hermione just shook her head at their antics. "Okay, you _both_ are the reason we'll win. There. Are you happy now?"

They both nodded, eyes shining and wide smiles framing their faces.

"Such children."

* * *

If someone were to hold a wand to Harry's throat and ask him how he found his first week back, he would probably admit that it could have been a lot worse. He had experienced more trying first weeks to the Hogwarts' school year and he knew he couldn't really complain. He'd survived the War to live his life, and this was the life he was now living.

With Hermione.

"Harry, look."

The green-eyed wizard looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes first settling on Hermione. When she gestured to a point somewhere behind his left shoulder, he whipped his head around to see what she was pointing out to him.

"It's the girl from the bookshop," Hermione said, knowing that Harry had absently been searching through crowds and crowds of younger students for the dark-haired Hufflepuff.

Harry immediately smiled at the sight of the bustling witch, her small arms filled with books as she peaked over them, searching for an empty table in the library.

"Do you want to call her over?" Hermione offered, catching sight of Harry's facial expression.

Harry thought about it for a moment. Eventually, he turned back to Hermione and shook his head. "I don't think it would do her any favours to single her out," he said sadly. "I'm just pleased to see that she seems to be settling in well. I don't think I even picked up a book in my first year." He laughed at his own joke and Hermione couldn't hold back her smile.

"As a witness to that year, I do believe in the accuracy of your statement."

"Here here."

After a small chuckle, they both returned to their books. Harry was reading up on Ancient Runes, which was turning into a subject that he found he quite enjoyed. Hermione was studying for Arithmancy. It was the subject she complained the most about and Harry constantly told her that he was mightily glad he hadn't listened to her and added it to his course list. McGonagall would have allowed it as well, even more so when Hermione assured her that their time in the tent had proven rather fruitful with regards to Harry's academic prowess.

Harry expressed his irritation with her for doing that but Hermione knew he was faking it. He smiled rather childishly when McGonagall told him she was impressed, and proud. Despite everything he'd gone through in his life, he was still that little boy, looking for affirmation anywhere and everywhere.

"I'm done with the first chapter, by the way," Hermione said after quite a long silence.

Harry looked up to see Hermione looking at him. "What?"

"The, umm, journal. I managed to type out an entire chapter."

Harry just stared at her. Firstly, he was amazed that she managed to find the time to do such a thing and, secondly, he was forced to accept that she was very serious about it. Not that he expected anything different. He cleared his throat. "What's it on?" he asked, his curiosity trumping his hidden surprise.

Hermione made a point of setting down her quill and meeting his gaze. "It's more of a background piece, really," she said softly. "I wanted to write about how it is that we got to this very point in our lives."

"I suspect it's a pretty thick chapter then," he said, somewhat teasingly, even though his heart rate was rising.

Hermione smiled slightly. "A lot has happened to us in the last seven years - of course it's quite substantial," she admitted, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. "What I wanted to tell you, though, is that I found it rather therapeutic."

"And yet you're still not sleeping," he said, knowing it would irritate her.

It did. The scowl hit her face hard and her stare was enough to make him cringe. "Well, that's just really mature, Harry Potter," she quipped, even huffing.

He sat back, sighing. "Sorry," he muttered. Then, sitting up, he said, "Do I get to read it? I mean, I need the sleep, don't I?"

Hermione chucked a ball of parchment at him, her mouth opening in surprise. "You're terrible!"

He laughed. "I know, but do I?"

"What?"

"Get to read it."

Hermione's features softened. "Of course, Harry. I already told you that." She paused for a moment. "I want your contribution."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "As in you want me to make comments on what I read, or you actually want me to write something?"

Hermione didn't even skip a beat. "Both."

Harry would have thought she was joking if she didn't look so serious. And yet, he still said, "You're kidding, right?"

As if she anticipated his reaction to her words, she chuckled. "Definitely not kidding about this, Harry. It's you and me now. Well, at least until we see Ron again. I want to hear what you have to say."

"You already hear everything I have to say," he pointed out. "The only conversations I have that don't include you are to Neville, really."

"Liar," she huffed. "There's Ginny, Ron, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, even Healer Patrick."

"Okay," he said. "Let me rephrase. What I should have said is that _you_ are the most important of all of them. I don't need anyone else to hear what I have to say. You're the only person who really understands anyway."

Hermione was prepared with her arguments but Harry stopped her by reaching across the table and taking hold of her hand.

"Please don't fight it, Hermione," he said softly, almost singing. "I know this to be true for me. I wouldn't know who to be if you weren't in my corner. I'm only this Harry Potter because of you. I know, Hermione. _I_ know."

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line as she processed his words. This was what she was trying to fight. They needed to find ways to get on without each other. They _needed_ to be able to survive without being undeniable constants in each other's lives. Somehow, she had to get Harry to see that. One day, they wouldn't be living together; they wouldn't be spending all their time together. One day, Harry would meet a girl and Hermione would be set aside. It was just the way things would be. She knew it, and he had to know it.

Truthfully, Hermione wasn't sure how she would handle another girl coming in, possibly taking her place, and probably becoming even more important to the most important person in her life.

Even the Gryffindor in her wasn't prepared to face that bridge when it came to it.

When Harry deemed himself done with his work for the evening, he turned his attention to Hermione. Whatever she was reading had her full attention and Harry wasn't brave enough to disturb her quite yet. He was content just watching her, which he supposed would have been incredibly creepy to any other girl.

Not Hermione.

She'd once admitted to him that she kind of liked it when he stared at her; it made her feel present, real. Harry understood that. He told her the same thing, in that he felt like he would disappear if she didn't _see_ him. Hermione seemed to be the only person who fully accepted his words as they were.

Hermione read until the end of her chapter before looking up at him. Her smile was reserved but big enough to make his cheeks burn with slight embarrassment. He'd been staring a long time.

"Is it time to go and see Hagrid?" Hermione asked softly, her eyes slightly strained from all the reading.

Harry checked his wrist for the time. They still had just under half an hour before Hagrid expected them at his hut. He mentioned something to them about having some exciting news. Hermione was determined to believe that it had something to do with a certain French Headmistress but Harry knew better. The half-giant's excitement was too _Hagrid_ to be anything related to romance. If anything, he probably had another dragon egg or something.

"We have a bit of time," Harry told her. "Do you want to stop by the Tower and drop our things off?" he offered.

Hermione nodded once as she began to pack her things away. Harry was done before her, of course, because he had amusingly less things than she did. He helped her return several books before they made the long walk up to the seventh floor.

"Say, Hermione, do you think you could get that first chapter to me tonight?" Harry asked cautiously as they walked.

"I put it in your room while you were at Quidditch practice," she informed him, barely looking his way.

"Sneaky."

"I much prefer stealthy," she let him know.

"Like a ninja."

Hermione just smiled as they approached the Fat Lady. She looked rather pleased to see them, which was something neither was used to. Hermione hurried with the password and they launched themselves through the portrait hole. They agreed to meet back in the common room in five minutes' time. Harry raced up the stairs to his Head Boy's room and dumped his book bag on the floor before searching for the chapter Hermione admitted to leaving for him.

The wad of paper was sitting on his nightstand, just waiting. Harry flung himself onto his bed, moving to lie on his back and retrieved the bound pages. He smiled at the title page, still rather amused by the name.

He started to read.

Hermione had to fetch him from his room when she'd spent too long waiting downstairs. "Harry, you can read it later," she reprimanded.

Harry seemed to snap out of a trance as Hermione lifted the pages out of his hands and set them aside.

"Hagrid is waiting." She started to turn away and leave once more, but he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her towards him. "Harry!" she squealed.

Harry held both her hands in his own as he sat up and turned to face her, his legs dropping to the ground. "It's amazing, Hermione," he said softly. "I didn't know that was how you saw me."

Hermione relaxed her body, even stepping closer to him, their legs touching. "It's how I _still_ see you, Harry."

Harry brought her hands up to his face and placed gentle kisses on her knuckles. "You continue to amaze me, do you know that?"

Hermione managed to free one of her hands and she ran it through his hair, her fingers coming to rest on the back of his neck. His skin was so warm and soft. "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

Harry tugged on her hand to bring her down to his level so he could kiss her cheek but he ended up tugging too hard and she practically fell into him. He ended up kissing the side of her mouth and, before he could decipher just how that made him feel, they were both laughing at the absurdity of it all.

She pushed herself up off his chest, her cheeks red from the laughter. "If I didn't know any better, Potter; I would think you were trying to seduce me."

That made heat rise up Harry's neck and he had to hold his breath to stop himself from possibly... squeaking. This was Hermione. What was wrong with him?

"Come on," Hermione finally said, sensing his slight discomfort. He looked particularly horrified by her notion and that was enough for her to know never to bring up such a thing again, even as a joke. "Hagrid."

Harry followed her out of his room and was relieved when he regained his bearings enough to concentrate on anything but the sight that was Hermione Granger walking in front of him. He'd never thought to pay attention before.

Because he was mimicking her steps, he stopped when she did, and was surprised to find them already at Hagrid's hut. "You ready?" she asked kindly, looking over her shoulder at him.

He must have looked a sight because she ended up turning fully to look at him. Her hand immediately moved to his shoulder to draw him into a gentle hug.

"I promise you'll get to read it when we're done," she said, sounding amused.

"Wench," he muttered, laughing against her neck. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Thank you, Harry."

The _dinner_ with Hagrid didn't go as terribly as Harry anticipated it going. It was, however, really strange not having Ron there with them. The big news that Hagrid apparently had was nothing to do with a certain Madam nor some magical creature. Hagrid revealed to them that he was now a student at Hogwarts.

"What?" Hermione asked, her mouth opening wide as she wrapped her head around his words. "McGonagall let you re-enroll?"

Hagrid nodded smugly.

It turned out that he was taking night lessons with several of the professors, his focus being on fourth year work. Harry could barely keep it together before and now _this_. Hermione reached for Harry's hand, not even afraid to let Hagrid see. The half-giant would never divulge their secrets.

"That's amazing, Hagrid," Hermione said for both teenagers. "We are so proud of you. I wish you'd told us earlier. It would have been lovely to accompany you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies. It must have been terribly exciting."

Hagrid looked embarrassed. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"It's wonderful, Hagrid," Harry finally spoke up. He even rose to his feet and gave his friend a tight hug. "And if you need any help at all, we're here. It's the least we can do after all that you've done for us."

The evening ended with all three of them shedding tears at all the sentiment. Hagrid even doubled over when Harry asked to see his new wand. Hermione just cried even more when she remembered that they both now had new wands.

By the time the two Gryffindors made it back to the Tower, they were both highly emotional, which had to be the reason that Harry asked Hermione _the_ question he vowed he wouldn't.

"Come to bed with me, Hermione," he whispered, refusing to let go of her hand. "Please."

It took everything she had not to run right into his arms when she convinced herself to look in his direction. He looked broken and worn out. It would have been so easy to say yes; to go back on what she said. "We can't, Harry," she whispered back. "And you know why."

"No I don't," he said sadly. "It just feels like punishment."

"It's not. It's for your own good. We can't need each other _this_ way anymore."

"You're just saying that," he said, releasing her hand and starting towards the boys' staircase. "But I can assure you, Granger, even you can't keep this up forever."

"What does that even mean?"

For a moment, Harry's expression turned smug. "I know you, Hermione. You'll see. You're going to end up coming to me."

"We'll see about that," she huffed, spinning on her heel and disappearing up the staircase.

Harry took his time climbing his own stairs, choosing to sleep in the seventh year dormitory with Neville. He didn't want to be alone in the darkness.

He hoped he was right.

He knew she would - Hermione would to come to him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

It took Hermione a further eight stubborn nights of restless sleep to make a decision: she just couldn't do it anymore. So, slipping out of bed and casting a Silencing Charm on herself, she made her way to the Gryffindor boys' seventh year dorm. She squeezed through the door to find only two of the five beds occupied. It was still strange to think that Dean, Seamus and Ron weren't around.

Hermione made her way towards Harry's four-poster bed, silently relieved that his curtains were down. Carefully, Hermione pulled them back to reveal Harry's sleeping form, tangled unceremoniously in his sheets. The fact that he was even asleep spoke volumes and she hesitated. How selfish was she? Could she really wake him up? Maybe she could just slip in beside him.

Hermione shook her head. This was stupid. She'd seen him. He was there. It should have been enough, but she just couldn't bring herself to leave. She desperately wanted to crawl into his bed and have him hold her and whisper that everything was going to be okay. It was what she _needed_ and she was convinced he needed it too.

In her thoughts, Hermione's grip on the deep red fabric slipped and the curtains fell back into place, tickling Harry's exposed knee. If it weren't for her Silencing Charm, she was sure her gasp would have woken up the entire Gryffindor Tower. Though, that was probably the least of her worries as she regathered the curtains and pulled back once more. In lightning quick motion, Harry Potter was awake, alert, his wand pointed straight at her face and a hex hanging on his lips.

Her eyes widened. She dropped her Silencing Charm, needing to speak before he fired first, asked questions later. She could tell he didn't recognise her in the dark, and without his glasses.

"Harry?" she whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, he dropped his wand, his heartbeat returning to normal. "Hermione... what are you doing here?"

"I can't do it anymore," she said softly, hating that she had to admit defeat. "I can't sleep. And, even if I do, it's riddled with horrific dreams where you never wake up from Hagrid's arms." Her voice caught. "I just, I... can't. Anymore. Okay, you win, Harry. You win. I can't do it. Please don't make me."

Without another word, Harry shifted to one side of his bed and opened the covers for her. Hermione crawled right into his arms, her hands seeking the fabric of his t-shirt, her fingers needing to feel the beating of his heart and her legs tangling with his. She wasn't even ashamed to breathe him in, every part of him was so disarmingly calming to her.

Harry held her tightly in his arms, determined not to ease his grip until he was asleep. He whispered words into her hair to soothe her and she didn't even care _what_ he was saying; just that he was. She'd been afraid that the way she'd been acting would make him turn her away but he hadn't even asked a question.

Eventually, she caught on to what he was saying to her. It was the same three words over and over. Even in semi-consciousness, the boy knew what she needed to hear.

 _You are loved._

She suspected he would be repeating the words until sleep claimed him. It didn't take very long. Hermione could tell from the slight change in his breathing that he drifted into full unconsciousness. What amazed her, though, was that his arms remained locked around her, the fingers of his one hand entwined with the fingers of the other in a death grip at a point near her left shoulder blade.

It took Hermione a bit longer to fall asleep, her body taking its time relaxing in this new place. She might have been in a new bed, in a new bedroom, but Harry's arms were so safe and familiar. And, for the first time in what felt like a _very_ long time, Hermione Granger had a dreamless sleep.

Harry woke up first, his eyes snapping open in alarm. He felt cool air on his back and wondered why that was. He quickly pushed that thought aside as he felt the familiar soft curls of hair tickling his nose, surrounding him in Hermione's distracting scent. Harry surveyed that he was, indeed, still holding onto her rather tightly, one hand on the small of her back and the other clutching her waist.

Her _bare_ waist.

Somehow, her pyjama top had ridden up and his fingers were touching flesh.

This was, of course, not the first time that Harry had touched Hermione. Living together had them face one too many awkward situations but they normally laughed about them. _This_ was different. He couldn't be sure why that was, but it definitely _felt_ different. He was holding her and the entire world suddenly didn't matter anymore. He was totally miserable without _this_. It was so much better being miserable _with_ her.

At least, that way he knew he wasn't alone. He tried to think of a reason why he felt different but nothing came to mind. He thought back to the previous night and had to catch his breath. For days, they'd spent nights apart, limiting their contact to that of _normal_ friends in the daytime as she had told them they needed to do. And then...

She'd come to him.

Harry usually didn't wake up holding Hermione. Early on in their arrangement, he'd allowed himself to think that she only needed him until she fell asleep. He wanted to give her space, though that proved to be a lot more difficult in this - much smaller - bed. Harry couldn't see Hermione's face but he imagined she looked as calm as he felt. He didn't want to move but he didn't want her to wake up to find him touching her. What would she think then? Really, what was _he_ thinking?

He had to stop thinking entirely as his fingers twitched over her skin. His _entire_ body was waking up and the way she was pressed against him definitely wasn't helping. Harry couldn't tell for sure what time it was but it was definitely early.

As if sensing his _rising_ panic, Hermione shifted, her eyes opening in a flutter. She felt rested and... loved. So. Very. Loved.

Hermione was made immediately aware of the hand on her waist. It was not her own and she was oddly okay with that. She could feel his breath seeping through her strands of hair. Everything about her position was so comforting, so perfect, that it would take a mountain troll to get her to move. But Harry's somewhat pained groan and sudden movement was close enough. Hermione sat up to find Harry standing with his back to her, the curtains parted where he stood.

"Harry?" she whispered, her voice heavy with sleep.

Harry shook his head violently. Then, without saying a word, he disappeared from view.

Hermione didn't move. So many things were running through her mind. Was he ill? Did he regret allowing her into his bed? Was he mad at her? She was tempted to get up and return to her room but she needed to know what was wrong with him. She would make him tell her.

Harry returned some seven minutes later, looking particularly flustered. His cheeks were red and his hair looked messier than she had ever seen it. And she'd seen her fair share of Harry's bed hair. He seemed shocked to find her still sitting there, her legs covered by his duvet. "Hi," he said sheepishly, as if he could get by without explaining himself.

Hermione glared at him. "Harry?"

He plastered on a smile, his eyes refraining from giving her the once over like they were trained to do. The act suddenly felt terribly sexual and... well, it made him feel like a predator. How could she have been okay with it? "How did you sleep?" he asked.

Slowly, Hermione moved positions until she was kneeling in front of him, her eyes in line with his. He just couldn't look at her. "Is everything okay?"

Harry hadn't had much time to come up with a suitable excuse so all he managed to do was nod. Having her that close was doing strange things to him. Apparently, he'd _really_ missed her.

"What happened?" Hermione pressed, leaning forward ever so slightly. "You practically ran out of here. Did I do something?"

Harry knew she was smart enough to figure it out but he sincerely hoped she wouldn't. And, even if she did, he hoped it didn't happen while still in his presence. That would be beyond embarrassing.

"Harry?"

"I desperately needed the loo," he said quickly, somewhat pleased with himself. "Sorry, I just couldn't hold it."

"Nothing to do with me?"

Harry just managed to shake his head as her arms lifted to his shoulders. She clasped her fingers behind his neck and pulled him towards her. For a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. His eyes widened in surprise at the thought that he actually _wanted_ her to.

Hermione didn't kiss him. Instead, she pulled him into a loose hug. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear.

Harry couldn't bring himself to wrap his own arms around her. He didn't trust himself to touch her. Not in his current state. Something was happening. Something he couldn't explain or control. He felt panicked and he was fully aware of his racing heartbeat. He just hoped Hermione didn't notice. He needed to be alone to sort through whatever was happening.

Hermione eventually released him and climbed off the bed, while Harry took quite a large step back to make space for her. "I should probably go back to my room before Neville wakes up," she said softly, still not entirely convinced that whatever was wrong with him this morning wasn't to do with her.

"I'll see you later," he said as he watched her leave, her wand held tightly in her hand. He remained standing there even after she was gone, his thoughts swirling haphazardly in his mind. What was going on with him?

Harry flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He could smell Hermione in his sheets, which was so familiar and wonderful that his mind drifted back to the feel of her bare skin under his fingers. Harry's smile at the memory quickly turned into a frown. Something had to be wrong with him. In all the time that he and Hermione had shared a bed, he'd never reacted this way.

That wasn't an exaggeration. Besides his obvious control; he'd never actually seen Hermione _that_ way. It wasn't that he was blind... even he could see how beautiful she was. Sometimes it was even painful to look at her, which was probably why she was always best suited to stand right next to him. It was just that, in all their years, he had surely always thought of Hermione like a sister.

Well, he couldn't say he knew all that much about having a sister. From what he had seen of Ginny interacting with her brothers, he knew that his and Hermione's relationship was _vastly_ different. They always seemed to have hands on each other, consciously or subconsciously touching base with each other. So maybe Hermione wasn't like his sister. He surely loved her like she was one. He'd said as much to Ron when they were destroying the Locket. But what did Harry Potter even know about love?

Harry closed his eyes, suppressing a groan. He forced all thoughts from his mind, settling for the fact that he'd just missed Hermione. That was it. He'd been physically ill without her and this was how his body was reacting: merely returning to normal. Normal?

Harry rolled over, buried his face in a pillow and groaned loudly. When he breathed in, all he got was Hermione, and he immediately sat up. It was going to be a long day.

Harry tumbled off his bed when Neville woke up. He made quick work of getting ready to face the day, determined to find something to distract himself from thinking about Hermione and her soft, warm skin; the sweet smell of her hair or the way she fit perfectly against him.

When Harry and Neville arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione and Ginny were already waiting for them in the Gryffindor common room. Harry immediately smiled at the sight of Hermione, who was also smiling at him. They had a precious little secret.

"What's up with you two?" Ginny asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just feeling rested."

Hermione chuckled. "And loved."

Harry moved to stand beside Hermione, his eyes automatically giving her the once over. He felt calmer now that there were other people around. If he could imagine that people could hear what he was thinking, he could refrain from thinking about his best friend in such an unsavoury way.

"You two are so strange," Ginny concluded, before she tugged on Neville's sleeve, pulling him towards the portrait hole.

Harry and Hermione followed close behind. Harry didn't try to touch her, even though he usually would have placed a hand on the small of her back. There were just things he didn't want to chance now that his body was doing _strangely_ normal things. Hermione kept glancing back at him as the four of them headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast. She looked so content, even happy. He would have paid great amounts of money to have her smile at him like that for the rest of his pitiful life.

In fact, Harry felt quite smug. He'd managed to do _that_ by just holding her while they slept. Imagine what he could accomplish if he... He stopped thinking quite suddenly. That was dangerous territory.

It really was going to be a long day.

Because Harry was actively avoiding touching Hermione, he was made viciously aware of how much they did usually touch during a single day. Most of them were glancing touches because they had no aversion to each other. Well, he hadn't until that morning. Harry attempted to count the amount of times Hermione leaned into him during Transfiguration but the shivers running up and down his spine made it near impossible to concentrate. She was always so close to him, knees touching, elbows knocking. She even put her hand on his thigh a few times. There really was no boundary between them.

They were together in a way that Harry hadn't noticed until he just _did_. Suddenly, Harry saw what everyone else saw. Hermione was right. Even as he sat there, fighting off the tingling that was erupting from within him, he knew that there were very rarely things about which she was wrong.

"You're acting strange today," Hermione pointed out to Harry as they made the journey from the Gryffindor common room to their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom after they'd eaten lunch. "And I'm not the only one who's noticed."

Harry tried to think of something intelligent to say but nothing came to mind. He couldn't think of a suitable excuse. "Today just feels strange," he finally said.

"Because you finally had a full night's sleep?" she asked, winking at him.

Harry actually skipped a step as they walked, making Hermione give him a curious look. Why was she winking all of a sudden? Did she normally wink? Had he just not noticed before? Why was he noticing now?

Her winking was not the only thing he now noticed. He was looking at her in a different way, seeing her in a new light, and it was driving him crazy. There were so many little things that she did - like furrow her brow when she was reading something important or bite her bottom lip when she was waiting for the reply to a probing question - that he hadn't really registered until he started to _look_. And the way she walked! He'd never found anything so fascinating before.

"Seriously, Harry, are you okay?" she asked seriously, even coming to a stop. "Are you mad at me for going back on what I said about not crawling into your bed?"

"Why do you always think I'm mad at you?" he asked.

"I don't," she huffed. "But you do have this new expression on your face and I'm trying to figure it out. I've never seen it before, and I'm the person who probably knows you better than you know yourself. So, Harry James, tell me what's up?"

He just smiled at her as he got them moving once more. It wouldn't be proper to be late for a class after lunch. And plus, Harry really didn't feel like getting in trouble with Professor Martin Puth. In the lessons they'd already had with the man, he'd ripped through everything Harry thought he knew about how to defend himself. During the hunt, he, Hermione and sometimes Ron had furthered their knowledge in several different things. Spellwork was one thing. And defense was another, definitely much larger thing.

Still, though, Harry was just relieved to know that there were still things he could learn in what was still his favourite school subject.

"Did you ever think that I could be considering what to get you for your birthday?" Harry asked, as they entered the classroom.

Hermione gave him a wistful look. "You know you don't have to get me anything, Harry," she said calmly. "You already do so much for me. Just the fact that you're here is enough of a gift."

Harry felt his insides do what he assumed were somersaults. It was an entirely new experience for him. Hearing Hermione say these kind of things was not surprising to him but he had never really taken them at face value. He had _never_ reacted this way. The entire day just felt like an out-of-body experience and a part of him wished it would stop and go back to normal. Though, an even bigger part of him did not want that. That bigger part of him even started to think that he rather liked it.

Hermione led them towards a table right in front of the classroom, setting her books down before she turned to look at Harry. "You're not going to listen to me, are you?"

Harry had the decency not to deny it. "When have I ever listened to you?" He asked the question intending for it to be amusing but it just brought back endless flashbacks of the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. He couldn't stop himself from reliving watching Sirius die and fall through The Veil. Harry had to put a hand on the table to stop himself from stumbling at the impact of the memory.

Hermione watched the emotions play out on his handsome face. The grief, anger, blind rage, total anguish, painful loss. It made him look a lot older than he was and it ripped through her own heart to witness it. Without another thought, she had him wrapped up in one of her signature hugs, knowing that the human contact would be helpful in bringing him back from his torturous thoughts.

Well, it would have, on any other day.

Harry stiffened in her hold, which only made Hermione tighten her grip. Harry had never resisted her touch, but it felt different to him. Instead of being comforting, it was... _different_. Harry couldn't put his finger on it. And even if he could, he doubted he would ever voice his thoughts.

"I'm okay, Hermione," Harry said softly. "You can let go now."

Hermione waited another moment before she released him, dropping her head. "You're embarrassed, aren't you?"

Harry noticed the hurt in her tone, which propelled him into action. "Oh, definitely." He placed his hands on the sides of her head and gave her a sloppy kiss on her forehead.

"Harry," she protested, unable to stop her smile as she tried to wipe at her forehead. "That's disgusting!"

He placed another sloppy kiss against her right cheek, even pulling her closer. "Oh I'm sorry. Did I get something on your face?" He laughed. "Is this embarrassing?" Another kiss on her left cheek. "And this?"

Before he could place another kiss on her face, she put both of her hands on his chest to stop him, laughing out loud. "Okay, okay!"

Harry released her, his heart rate coming down. "I'm not embarrassed," he said, sitting down. "Today is just a very strange day. I'm sure I'll be back to normal tomorrow."

Hermione also sat down, using the sleeve of her robes to wipe her cheeks. "You're making the assumption that you've ever been normal."

"You keep that up and I'll kiss you again," he said.

Hermione threw him a look that he'd never seen before. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You definitely would."

This was a topic not particularly new to them, but it definitely straddled an unspeakable line between what they were and what they could be. Whether they were conscious of it or not, these were conversations that quickly died down. Hermione was saved from a response by the classroom door opening. Several Ravenclaw students walked in and found their way to their respective tables. Harry and Hermione didn't exchange words on anything other than DADA until the end of the lesson, though they did sneak curious looks at each other.

As Harry was walking Hermione to her Arithmancy class after DADA, she said something that made him skip a step. "I think we need to get you a girlfriend."

"What?" he chocked out.

"A girlfriend, Harry. We are way too comfortable with each other. You can't just go around kissing people, you know?"

"You're just saying that because you liked it," he managed to say, just able to recover. "Honestly, Hermione, just out with it already, will you? You want me." Harry had no idea where he found the guile to say such a thing to her.

Hermione seemed just as surprised. "Is this just you embracing your very strange day?"

"Possibly."

When they reached the classroom, Hermione stopped before going inside. "If this is the way you act when you've had a full night of sleep, I think we should go back to being zombies."

Harry hid his panic well. He didn't trust himself to speak so all he did was smile.

"Are you going to be here when I'm done?"

"Aren't I always?"

"Good man." She reached up, kissed his cheek and then disappeared through the door. Harry watched her leave, wishing this ever so strange day would stop being so very strange. If he could just make it through the day, he was sure things would settle down by the time the sun came up the next day.

He was wrong.

If anything, it got worse.

As she mentioned, Hermione didn't return to Harry's bed that night. He'd even decided to sleep in the Head Boy's room so she wouldn't have to tiptoe around Neville if she did come. He stayed up as long as he could, stupidly waiting for and possibly dreading her arrival. When she didn't show up, Harry's own exhaustion claimed him. He dreamt of Hermione. Other boys probably would have had some sort of dirty dream but Harry's dream consisted of green lights and Hermione's screams.

The particularly bad ones were his nightmares about Malfoy Manor. Healer Patrick mentioned that it was probably the helplessness he'd felt that made their time there so unbearable. Those ones were usually so vivd and painful that he would wake up breathless and layered in sweat. That night was no different. He suspected that he thrashed about in his sleep, because the sheets were tangled in his limbs and his pillows were all on the floor when his eyes snapped open in his panic.

He needed Hermione.

Harry couldn't get to her room. Even if he could, he didn't think he had the guts to climb into bed with her anymore. He was quite certain that his body would react, now that his fingers knew all too well the softness of her bare waist. That damn waist. He was in this mess because of a little bit of skin. It wasn't even skin that he'd never seen before. Harry wouldn't admit it to anyone if he was asked, but he had seen more of Hermione's body than either of them would admit.

Living together tended to do that. Harry knew that the witch had legs that didn't end. He would be daft not to notice and, seeing as they _were_ Harry and Hermione, he felt comfortable enough to tell her that he noticed.

It was what he was thinking about when he headed down for breakfast. As expected, Ginny and Hermione were waiting in the common room. Hermione's body felt foreign in Harry's arms when she hugged him good morning. It was as if he was _feeling_ her for the first time. There were curves in all the right places and Harry was suddenly very aware of where he placed his hands.

Hermione linked her fingers with his as they made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Luna was already there, seated at the Gryffindor table without even the slightest urge to glance back at the Ravenclaw table. Luna definitely wasn't the only one who moved around. Sometimes, Susan and Hannah joined them, and the Hufflepuff boys as well. Sometimes they even went to sit at the Hufflepuff table instead.

Harry _loved_ it.

"You're still holding out for when a Slytherin joins us though, aren't you?" Hermione whispered to him as she loaded scrambled eggs onto both of their plates.

"I think the whole great Wizarding World would come crashing down if that ever happened," he said, laughing lightly as he poured pumpkin juice into her glass. "There would be outrage. Chaos would ensue. The world wouldn't even know what to do with itself."

Hermione gave him an amused look before she reached somewhat across him to retrieve some sausage for them. It was an innocent movement, but it was anything but innocent to Harry. Her free hand rested on his thigh and he caught a whiff of Hermione. It was a testament to how appealing it was to him when it was all he could smell even though there was a platter of crispy bacon right in front of him.

"Hermione," he whispered, alarmed at the pleading in his own voice.

She poked her fork through two sausages before depositing them on his plate. Before she could reach across for her own, he gained control enough to stop her.

"I'll get it," he said, his hand closing tightly around the hand currently on his thigh. This girl would be the death of him, he was sure. She gave him a curious look, but said nothing.

Soon, both their plates were filled to their satisfaction and they tucked in, silently reaching their conclusion simultaneously. Harry barely registered anything but Hermione, and it took the clearing of a throat to get him to look in a direction that wasn't Hermione or his food.

Ginny and Neville were looking at them dubiously when he looked up at them. "What?" he asked innocently.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You do realise that we're here as well, right?"

Harry felt his cheeks start to burn. A quick look at Hermione told him that she was just as embarrassed, if not more. "Sorry," Harry mumbled. "How are you two? Still goggling at each other, are you?"

It was the other two's turn to blush and, after a moment, all four students burst into a fit of laughter.

Luna seemed to miss the entire exchange, which just made the four of them laugh even harder. Harry couldn't imagine a situation any better, save for having Ron with them. He would definitely be the life of the party, making sure that they were constantly held in a bout of laughter.

Harry looked over at Hermione, and he just _knew_. Something had definitely changed, within him, between them. He couldn't, or he wouldn't, put a name to what that was, but this was something he'd just now figured out.

It didn't scare him in the slightest. This was Hermione Granger. His best friend. She would never leave him.

Hermione caught him staring and gave him one of her trademark looks, silently asking questions to which he had no answers. "So strange, Harry Potter," she muttered, the laughter still dancing in her eyes.

Harry didn't even know what to say. He took hold of her hand and placed it on his thigh, entwining their fingers under the table. He absently rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry Potter vowed never to let go.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I found variations of the items on the list from several Hermione Granger blog and tumblr posts. Of course, I added in my own as well, and changed them up a bit.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Hermione's birthday was an entirely new experience for Harry. Never in his life had one person's happiness been so important to him. He was noticeably invested in making sure that her day was perfect. After all, it wasn't everyday that one of his best friends got to turn a year older. They were alive; they would celebrate.

Before he'd woken up _that_ morning and wanted nothing less than to push her up against a wall and kiss her senseless, her birthday was going to be just like every other one they'd celebrated before. Now he had greater incentive. If he could just see her smile that smile that made the rest of the world seem so unimportant; he knew it would be worth it.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to prepare. Only one day. Most of his thoughts ended up going into the gift he would give her, and that was difficult enough, without it being too obvious that his entire outlook on who she was to him had completely shifted. Even he knew that there was a difference between the type of present you get for a friend and the type of present for a girl you've been fantacising about.

And Harry found himself fantacising about her quite a bit. It wasn't ever anything bad. Harry, admittedly, had very little experience with girls. His imagination and countless tales from Dean and Seamus were all he had to go on, but even he knew that finally getting Hermione in his arms the right way would vastly outweigh whatever he could possibly think up.

If anything, Harry thought that, for a present, he would resort to kissing her. It was almost becoming unbearable to be near her. And he was _always_ near her. Everything she did made him want to abandon all control and whisper sweet nothings. Really, it was a problem.

He could barely focus on his schoolwork and he spent an alarming amount of time staring at her, as if he couldn't believe that she was actually real. Surely nobody this great could exist. Surely.

Before they'd arrived at Hogwarts, Harry did what he normally did and bought her books a plenty. She was Hermione and he knew she would appreciate them; but he wanted to do something _more_ this year. It was almost like he'd been struck by lightening when it came to him.

He needed a favour from Ginny and she was happy to oblige. She didn't even ask him what he needed it for and that was great for him. The less explaining he had to do, the better.

He didn't actually have that much time to work on it, but he stayed up all night - not that he actually had to try - to get it done. He'd toyed with the idea of getting Hermione down to the common room at midnight, but he decided against it. He would see her in the morning. He would see her and he would wish her happy birthday the right way.

Harry was down in the common room first, eagerly awaiting Hermione's arrival. He could barely sit still in his own excitement.

He literally sprang to his feet when he spotted her bushy hair. He had her caught in his arms before she could even register his presence. Harry even lifted her off the ground and spun her, making her squeal.

Ginny just laughed as she watched the entire thing play out, absently feeling a little jealous of her brown-haired friend. What surprised her was that it didn't actually have anything to do with _Harry_. She just couldn't remember anyone being so excited about her birthday, apart from her mother, and Molly didn't count in this regard. Even Harry hadn't shown this much interest before, which really told her all she needed to know about her chances with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Ginny was proud to say she had accepted its truth a while ago. She was moving on. Though, to where, wasn't as far away from Harry as many had anticipated.

Once Harry set Hermione down, he pulled her into yet another hug. "Happy birthday, Hermione," he whispered breathlessly, making her shiver. Then he stepped back and gave her body the once-over, allowing his eyes to linger on all the best parts. His eyes, of course, returned to her face and he broke out into another excited grin.

"Hi," Harry breathed.

Hermione's blush was so deep, she didn't trust herself to speak. "Harry," she eventually whispered. "What's gotten in to you?"

"It's your birthday."

"I know."

"You're older than me."

"Don't remind me."

"Cougar."

She gasped in disbelief but she wasn't even sure how to reprimand him. "I swear you're more excited than I am."

"I am, Hermione," he said strongly. "You're a whole year older, and I get to see it. I'm _here_ and I get to see you get older. That gets me excited."

Hermione had to hug him again, tears springing to her eyes.

"No, Hermione. Not today. No tears today, okay?"

She nodded dumbly as they released each other, but she didn't step away. She was almost tucked into his side when Neville stumbled down the stairs, looking a little bewildered at the fact that Harry wasn't still up in the dorms waiting for him.

"Harry, you're down here," Neville said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The wizard in question was still smiling. "Morning, Neville."

Neville didn't find Harry's smile unsettling. In fact, he found it contagious, and he smiled as well. "Hi Ginny, Hermione," he said. Then, sensing he was missing something - particularly from the glare Ginny was giving him - he paled. "What? What?"

Ginny practically growled. "I reminded you last night, Neville."

It still didn't come to him. "What? I don't remember. Somebody just tell me."

Harry shrugged and Hermione would never bring it up. Ginny was determined not to be the one to remind him either. He would have to figure it out for himself.

"Breakfast?" Harry asked, linking his fingers with Hermione's.

It took Neville the greater part of breakfast in the Great Hall to figure out what the day was. He dropped his fork in surprise and shame. "Hermione! It's your birthday!"

Hermione looked equally surprised, her gaze snapping towards him. "Umm, yes it is, Neville. Thank you for reminding me."

"Happy birthday!"

"Thank you."

"I didn't _actually_ forget," he added quickly. "I remembered. I even got you a present and everything. It just slipped my mind for a bit."

"It's really okay, Neville," Hermione said kindly. "I know you knew. Don't feel bad about it. I also forgot until Ginny pounced on me this morning."

Ginny nodded. "She was _so_ surprised."

"Nearly gave me a heart attack," Hermione said, though she didn't laugh. Harry could only imagine how that surprise had really gone down. He suspected that Hermione must have expertly drawn her wand on the unsuspecting Weasley, an undeniable habit of War.

Hermione looked at Harry. "I really thought you would wake me at midnight," she said.

He shrugged. "I thought about it... But then I know how precious sleep is."

The smile she gave him made Harry's stomach do a violent somersault. He couldn't bring himself to look away from her. He didn't even care what she was saying in this moment. All he wanted was to see her. It was actually sickeningly sad, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"I wish it was the weekend," Ginny said sadly. "I mean, I know you love school and all, Hermione; but even you can't say that you want to do schoolwork on your birthday."

"I don't really mind," Hermione admitted.

Ginny groaned. "Of course _you_ would say that."

Hermione chuckled, hiding her embarrassment well. She looked at Harry again, just because she could, and she blushed at the grin he was still giving her. "Don't your cheeks hurt?" she asked softly, so only he could hear.

"I don't even care."

Hermione wanted to reach up and touch his cheek but she resisted the temptation. "Don't hurt yourself on account of me, Harry Potter. I won't stand for it." She tried to sound serious but even she could hear the laughter in her own voice.

Harry was about to say something else but the sound of the arrival of the morning post stopped him. Owls flew into the Great Hall in great numbers, majority of them headed towards Hermione. Many packages and an obscene number of envelopes dropped onto the table in front of her, sending food flying in several directions.

"Someone's popular," Ginny mused as the last of the letters settled on the table.

"Who could they all possibly be from?" Hermione asked, picking up an envelope near the top of the pile.

It was Neville who responded. "Hermione, you did help defeat Voldemort. I suspect some of these are from adoring fans, or from young girls aspiring to be just like you. Isn't that obvious?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. They were all sure she was about to say something modest, something to deflect Neville's praise, so Ginny spoke up before Hermione could properly form her thoughts once more.

"I think this is from Ron," Ginny said, picking up a small package and holding it out across the table for Hermione to take.

Harry was the one who took the package from her. "Maybe you can open all these later," he offered to nobody in particular, having sensed that Neville's mentioning of the War must have brought on flashbacks.

Hermione absently nodded, immediately seeking out Harry's hand. He entwined their fingers, bring their hands down and under the table to rest on his thigh. He could feel her trembling beside him and he hated it. He did not want _this_ on her birthday.

Harry took out his wand and, with a flick of his wrist, all the offending mail was gone, to be looked through later. Hermione didn't even look at him to question where he had sent the items. She just seemed relieved to see that she wouldn't have to deal with it all in front of other people. Only Harry Potter.

"We should get to Transfiguration."

Hermione allowed Harry to lead the way to their classroom. He held her hand, of course, and neither of them even cared. They were strolling through the corridors when the two of them ran into an eager-looking group of first years.

 _His_ group of first years. Two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws.

Harry immediately smiled at the sight of them, recognising the four from the book shop. Hermione squeezed his hand and brought them to a stop, silently giving him an unexpected present on her special day.

Harry smiled at her for a moment before giving the four his undivided attention. Before he could even ask his first question, all four were already talking _at_ him, and Hermione just chuckled at his side.

"Whoa," Harry said, laughing as well. "One at a time, please."

"Will you tell Hermione happy birthday from us," the girl who was not Zara said to Harry.

"You can tell her yourself, you know," he replied, glancing at Hermione. "She doesn't bite, I promise."

The girl looked at Hermione, her eyes bright. "Hello Hermione," she said proudly. "I'm Sophie. This is Ronan, Zara and Oliver. We just wanted to wish you happy birthday."

Harry had to blink a few times. The way Sophie took control and spoke for her friends reminded him so much of Hermione that he was almost sure he was caught in a flashback.

Hermione appeared just as bewildered as she struggled to find her voice. "Oh, thank you," she eventually said. "How have your first few weeks been?" she asked kindly.

There was another assault of voices as four answered as one. Harry just watched in amusement as Hermione tried to decipher who was saying what. Their childish enthusiasm warmed him from the inside. Had he and Hermione ever been like that?

No. No they hadn't.

They'd never had the opportunity to _enjoy_ school.

Harry watched them carefully, finding that seeing Hermione interact with them stirred something within him that he didn't even know existed. It was like an alarm going off in his head, really. He knew exactly what he had in her: family. Now, and in the future.

It didn't scare him as much as he first thought it would when he came to the realisation that he saw children in his future. Well, if he really thought about it, the part that didn't scare him was that Hermione would be there somehow. How could he fail at being a father if Hermione was around? She'd never let him down before.

But Children... with Hermione?

Was that what he _wanted_?

Yes. Yes it was.

He took a breath to steady himself. Now t _hat_ was monumental.

Harry noticed that Zara was looking at him oddly, as if she was reading his thoughts in some way. Could she tell that he came to such a conclusion? Harry shook his head. That was ridiculous. Everything he was thinking was totally ridiculous. He wasn't even sure _what_ exactly he felt for Hermione and now he was envisioning some life they could have in some distant future.

Damn.

"Are you okay?" Zara asked him, taking a small step away from her friends.

He looked at her. "I'm fine," he said softly. Then, louder, he added, "I'm great."

"Because it's Hermione's birthday?"

He nodded. "And I finally get to talk to you. I told you Hogwarts wasn't that scary."

"No it isn't," she agreed. "And now there are now a lot more students than there were when we first started."

Harry nodded his understanding. "It's better that way. Feels more like Hogwarts."

She still gazed him, seeing something that he wasn't sure was even there to be seen on his face. "But that's not the only reason you're _great,_ is it?"

Harry eyed her carefully. "What are you? Some kind of Seer?"

She shrugged. "I can tell you like her," she said seriously.

Harry stepped back. "What?"

"No, it's more than that," Zara said softly. "It's _a lot_ more, isn't it?"

Harry said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

He turned to look at Hermione when he heard someone say his name. Hermione and Sophie were looking at him, both smiling secretively.

"Yes he is," Hermione said, still keeping her eyes on him.

He asked the question with his eyes but she said nothing. Just continued to smile that smile.

Oliver and Joe were talking between themselves but looked up when silence fell over the other four students. Harry felt supremely uncomfortable so he cleared his throat.

"I think we should all get to class, don't you?" he prompted.

There was a chorus of goodbyes and then Harry and Hermione were on their way again. They walked only a few metres before he had to ask the burning question. "What were you and Sophie talking about?"

"What were you and Zara talking about?"

They looked at each other for a moment before they each replied at the same time. "You."

Hermione laughed. "She said that you were cute, and I agreed."

"You think I'm cute?"

She nodded. "And rather handsome, if I might add."

"You think I'm handsome?"

Hermione stopped to look at him properly. "Are you just messing around or are you asking me seriously, Harry?"

"Seriously."

"Do you really not know how, umm, good-looking you are?"

"The same way you don't know how beautiful you are?"

Hermione had no comeback and Harry had to smirk. She grabbed his hand. "Come on. Professor Adams is going to kill us if we're late."

* * *

Harry and Hermione spent majority of their late afternoon going through all the letters and packages she received that morning, in Harry's Head Boy room. The Prefects' common room was too public and Harry couldn't get into Hermione's Head Girl's room. Also, he doubted there was another place in all of Hogwarts in which they could be as open with each other.

They quickly established an efficient system, where Harry was designated opener of letters and she just read them before setting them aside to write her thank you notes at a later time. They were sprawled out on the carpet on the floor, a right mess of paper surrounding them.

Hermione had to admit that she was surprised by the sheer support that she did seem to have, and Harry didn't feel the need to reassure her about it. She received countless letters from young witches and wizards, as well as from parents who thanked her for being the right kind of role model.

"You and your books," Harry teased her; "Going to be ruining children's weekends for years to come."

"You love my books."

He did.

Of course, Hermione received books as presents from all who were close to her. Harry just watched in amazement as she marveled at each one of them, giving herself enough time to read a few pages of each. He loved the way she could get so excited about words on a page.

Once they were done, Harry Vanished all the excess paper, and Hermione sent her things to her room. She waited a beat more before she turned to him, a certain sadness washing over her.

"What?" he asked, shifting closer to her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ , exactly," she said, her eyes meeting his. "I just, umm, I can't help thinking about who _isn't_ wishing me happy birthday today, or ever again, for that matter."

Harry took a moment to figure it out. Her parents. He felt something tighten in his chest and, in that moment, he vowed to do all he could to make it better. He would fix it, somehow. He would find a way.

Hermione cleared her throat and pushed the sadness away. "And I'm still waiting for your present, by the way."

"Oh really," he taunted. "If I recall correctly, wasn't it you who said that I didn't need to get you anything; that merely being me was a gift enough?"

Hermione pouted. "I remember no such thing."

"Ha," he laughed. "That's understandable. Bad memory comes with old age."

She exaggerated a gasp, lifting her hand to swat him. "You're terrible, Harry Potter!"

He caught her wrist before she could exact physical harm on him. "Later, Hermione. I promise."

The severity of his tone made her shiver and, suddenly, she wasn't sure _wanted_ the present anymore.

Whatever it was.

* * *

After their patrol that evening, Harry led Hermione back up to his Head Boy's room, telling her that he had to give her his present. Hermione didn't fight it, just enjoying the feeling of his hand in hers, squeezing at irregular intervals. He'd spent the entire day at her side, his grin never _really_ faltering. It amazed her. He amazed her.

Harry released her hand once they were in the room, and Hermione quickly closed the door, realising quite quickly that they were about to have a deeply private moment. She watched him ruffle through his nightstand until he found a few pieces of paper. It was paper, not parchment. Without a word, Harry climbed onto his bed and beckoned her over with a gesture with his hand.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously, unmoving.

"Come here," he said, leaning back against his headboard and spreading his legs. "Sit with me."

Hermione spent a moment having to convince herself that he did, in fact, want her to sit where he wanted her to sit. Without a word, she climbed onto the bed and settled between his legs, her back pressing against his chest.

Harry let out a shaky breath that he hoped she didn't notice. Having her this close was intoxicating. "Firstly," he said, moving his arms so that his hands were in front of both of them. He held a few pieces of paper in front of her. "Don't be mad, but I may have borrowed your typewriter."

Hermione chose to say nothing. She knew that he knew she wouldn't have a problem with it.

"I wanted to get you something special, Hermione, but I couldn't think of anything with enough meaning to even remotely express to you just how much you mean to me. So I decided to write it all down."

Hermione relaxed into him as she took the pages from him. She was made aware of his hands settling on her abdomen, holding her close, as she began to read aloud. "'The Many Reasons Why the World (And Harry Potter) Need(s) Hermione Jean Granger?'" Hermione twisted her neck so she could look at him. "Harry, what is this?"

"Just read," he instructed, absently pulling her tighter against him.

Hermione shifted until she was comfortable, relaxing against him in a way she had never done before. She was actually quite amazed how well they fit together. Once she was settled, she started to read.

 _The Many Reasons Why the World (And Harry Potter) Need(s) Hermione Jean Granger_

 _1\. She is Harry Potter's best friend, loyal to a fault. (And one of the only reasons Harry is still alive to be able to write this.)_

 _2\. She is brave and wise. (Probably the wisest Harry has ever met, and that includes Dumbledore.)_

 _3\. She is better than all other Hermiones to have ever existed. (Especially the one she is named after. Even Shakespeare couldn't have created a character as awesome and complex as HJG.)_

 _4\. She is smart, heroic, a world-class witch and an amazing role model. (Harry wants to be exactly like her when he grows up.)_

 _5\. She has a wand with a dragon heartstring core. (And now so does Harry. Coincidence, Harry thinks not.)_

 _6\. She is an expert in pretty much everything she sets her mind to do. (Which is a bit scary, Harry has to admit. Though, he is still waiting for her to beat him on a broom.)_

 _7\. She has an enviable work ethic. (Goodness knows Harry wishes he was half as disciplined as she is.)_

 _8\. She is not afraid of anything, which includes telling things as they are. (Harry secretly calls her a badass in his head.)_

 _9\. She believes in equal rights for all, witches and wizards, and all magical creatures alike. (In muggle terms, she is a feminist. And Harry is unafraid to admit he is one as well.)_

 _10\. She genuinely cares for others, and despises neglectful behaviour. (Harry knows this because of the many death threats she has sent the Dursleys' way. He is sometimes even afraid for them.)_

 _11\. She is conscious of her own skills and uses them to help others however she can. (Harry would have failed out of Hogwarts without her help.)_

 _12\. She is conscious of her own faults. (Which Harry admits there are very few, which is great because she isn't always terribly self-aware.)_

 _13\. She is selfless. (And Harry doesn't know how he could ever repay her many sacrifices. He vows to spend the rest of his life trying.)_

 _14\. She is a priceless gem, a timeless wonder. (Every galleon that Harry has in his vaults would never amount to her worth.)_

 _15\. She gives the greatest pep talks. (Goodness knows Harry couldn't have done half of the things he did without her words of encouragement.)_

 _16\. She has probably read every book ever written. (And Harry is convinced that she could probably recite every word verbatim.)_

 _17\. She is brutally honest. (Sometimes a little too much, really. To this day, Harry remains wounded.)_

 _18\. She is unafraid to voice her opinion and give you a piece of her mind. (Which Harry realises is similar to No. 17 but it's an important part of who HJG is.)_

 _19\. She will never pass up the opportunity to correct you. (And Harry thinks she secretly enjoys it; the wench.)_

 _20\. She is highly capable of defending herself. (Need Harry mention the totally epic punch to Draco's ferret face. Badass wench.)_

 _21\. She is a known rule-breaker, but for only good reasons. (Saving Harry's life, he supposes. Is that a good reason?)_

 _22\. She is highly logical, emotionally expressive and the leading lady (in Harry's life.)_

 _23\. She is an inspiration to all those around her. (Particularly Harry.)_

 _24\. She is the most beautiful girl, both inside and out. (And Harry means it. Really, Hermione. He means it.)_

 _25\. She is loved by Harry Potter. (Harry has nothing more to add to this.)_

 _Believe him, Hermione. He speaks the truth._

 _Love, Harry._

"Oh Harry," Hermione whispered, her eyes already filled with tears. She twisted her neck once more, even sitting up slightly, to look at him properly. "This is beautiful, and so _you_."

"You don't think it's corny?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. It's perfect."

Harry looked at her, his eyes shining a bright green. "I know it isn't much. I didn't have time to figure out the perfect gift for you."

"This is it."

"You don't have to say that."

Hermione reached up to kiss his cheek. "I'm not _saying_ anything. I'm telling you that I love it. Thank you. It's better than any physical gift. This came from _you_."

"So you would say no to the set of books you would find on your bed right now?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "Now, where have you heard of my ever saying no to books?"

"That's what I thought," he said smugly.

She held the list up. "But I'll definitely appreciate this more. I'll cherish it."

Harry appeared thoughtful. "I've always hated that my parents never had the chance to meet you," he said softly, his grip on her tightening. "But, I suppose, I can trust that Sirius and Remus have told them all about how wonderful you are. I imagine them having the strangest tea parties where they discuss little _Pronglet's_ life, and how important you are to me."

As much as she fought, Hermione couldn't hold back the tears. She couldn't look at him anymore so she twisted back, leaned back into him and covered his hands over her abdomen with her own. She couldn't even think of anything to say. Just being there with him was more than enough.

"You are loved, Hermione," Harry whispered right into her ear.

Hermione knew the words carried a lot of meaning. She couldn't remember a time he'd ever actually _said_ the words 'I love you' out loud to her. He'd conveyed their meaning countless ways, with his searing looks, absent actions and even his happy grins. She knew without having to hear it that he loved her. And, she loved him too. They'd loved each other for a long time.

"And so are you, Harry Potter," Hermione mumbled back, her tears muffling her voice. "Thank you for today. This _entire_ day has been amazing, because of you."

"You're nineteen," he said; "On the nineteenth. It had to be special."

"It was more than anything I could have dreamed," she let him know. "Definitely makes up for how strange you've been acting."

He let out a light chuckle, moving his head so he could catch sight of her face. His eyes settled on her tear tracks but she seemed to be smiling. He wanted to shift some of her hair out of the way and place a soft kiss on the skin of her neck. It looked so inviting. Instead, he settled for placing a chaste kiss against her cheek.

"Thank you, Harry," she said again, relaxing into him once more. She could actually feel his heartbeat and, without even thinking about it, she closed her eyes. She felt so safe, so very loved. She didn't even realise she'd fallen asleep until Harry shifted behind her. Instinctively, she shifted with him until they were both lying on their sides, her back still against his front. He had his arm around her, holding her close, and she could feel his breath against her skin.

"'Mione," he whispered absently, his nose nuzzling her neck. " _Mine_."

She couldn't stop her smile as she drifted back to sleep, the warmth of him too inviting to even consider moving. Why would she even want to? This had to be the best day she'd had in such a long time; she couldn't even remember feeling this happy, or content. She was in Harry's arms and there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be.

Harry woke up blind. A wall of chestnut brown blocked his vision and he sighed in contentment. She was still here; still in his arms. He wanted this for the rest of his life. It wasn't even a question anymore.

The more aware he became, though, the more he began to panic. Where _was_ his hand? What _softness_ was that?

If he weren't so aware, Harry might have squeezed, but he was too fond of the breath in his lungs to chance such an act. Slowly, somewhat expertly, he managed to extricate himself from his compromising position. His body demanded a visit to the bathroom.

When he stepped back into his room, Hermione was gone. He could still smell her in the air and it automatically brought a smile to his face. Maybe today could be the day. It was as perfect as it could be, surely.

Harry, surprisingly, was the first one of the four down in the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't empty though. His Quidditch Keeper, Emily, was seated at a desk, looking over an essay of some sort. Harry moved towards her, greeting her quietly.

"What are you doing down so early?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Potions," she said tiredly. "It's honestly the worst."

"I wish I could say it gets better," he said, sounding a bit amused.

"At least we don't have Professor Snape anymore," she muttered. "I feel like I might actually be learning something with Slughorn... That is, when he isn't constantly asking after my Quidditch Captain."

Harry groaned. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," she admitted, unafraid to look him in the eye. "Gives me an excuse to gush over Harry Potter with someone equally transfixed."

Harry's breath hitched. Wait. What?

"Don't tell anyone though," she added, winking, and Harry all but nearly stumbled over himself.

What!

He looked around, and his eyes immediately settled on Hermione, who seemed to have come to a stop rather abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. Their eyes locked and he felt heat rise up his neck. How much of that had she heard? Had she heard any?

Damn. He hoped not.

Ginny interrupted the moment between Harry and Hermione, gently easing past Hermione's still form. "Breakfast time. Where's Neville?"

"Right here," the Gryffindor wizard called out, coming down the stairs.

Harry couldn't bring himself to say anything so he just followed in silence. He was actually rather disturbed by Emily's comments. She was normally so reserved, even _quiet_. But then, she _was_ a Gryffindor. How surprised could he be?

Was that what other girls thought as well?

Hermione didn't say anything to him about it, and he even allowed himself the luxury of believing she didn't hear anything. Or, hopefully, she wasn't bothered enough to mention it.

The thing was that Hermione did hear everything. She just didn't want to embarrass him by bringing it up. And, if he did end up liking Emily; who was she to comment? Though, even that thought was disheartening in itself. It was a mere possibility and she was already feeling like she would easily be replaced. It brought about a certain aching in her chest that she hadn't even thought _could_ exist.

It suddenly didn't matter what he said.

Because, for the first time in quite some time, Hermione was scared. The fear of losing him to another was painful even to think about it. She was right when she told him it would happen. He would meet a girl, fall in love, and Hermione would be a passing memory. Maybe not this girl, but there would be one.

And then what?

Soon, he would have to _make time_ for her. It would be ugly. She couldn't face that. She didn't want to face that alone.

She'd have to let go first.

Before he had the chance to.

Because, as it were, on the day that Harry Potter finally, and fully, accepted that he was, in fact, in love with his best friend; something equally terrible happened.

* * *

 _End of Part One_


	9. Chapter 9

AN: This Part is a tad, umm, I-really-can't-think-of-a-suitable-word, but I think it is necessary to get over their respective insecurities. There are still H/Hr moments but they will be acting decidedly unlike themselves at times, which I believe is a reaction to the way the other is acting. It's a little difficult for me to write, but bear with me. I promise happiness for our favourite Duo!

* * *

Part Two

Chapter Nine

It was a Tuesday.

Until that day, the subject of Arithmancy was just another subject to Harry. From early on, Harry determined it just wasn't for him and he had been perfectly fine with that. Numbers and equations did not interest him in the way they interested Hermione and he had never complained about it before.

Not until that Tuesday.

As with every Tuesday, Hermione had an Arithmancy lesson in the afternoon. In the time that he was out of her presence, he decided that there was no way he could tell her his personal realisation just yet. Any which way he looked at the possibility of actually telling her, he normally just descended onto the three precious words that would probably change everything. _Everything_. Which was something he was sure neither of them were ready for, given that they were both still struggling with painful demons of War and death.

And plus, who was to say she even felt the same way? Harry needed to be absolutely sure before he went and dropped the word _love_ into the cauldron. Her friendship was too important to him.

Harry just wanted to talk to Hermione about it. She was, in fact, the person who he talked to about everything going on with him, both physically and emotionally. She was, inexplicably, his _person_.

So, there Harry stood, waiting outside the Arithmancy classroom, waiting for the only person he knew he would never be able to live without. He was nervous, even shaking from the truth of it. He was also rather excited, but in a reserved kind of way. Hermione might have even called it a Harry Potter kind of way, which kept him smiling as he stared at the closed classroom door.

Harry had given it a lot of thought. Any thought at all was a lot for Harry Potter. For years, he'd acted first and thought later. He'd said things as he thought them. But, after the War, he knew he was different. He felt different. Hermione pointed out all the things that seemed to have changed about him and the first one was that he was definitely calmer.

At first, Harry hadn't understood what that meant but then the situation with Ron presented itself and he suddenly knew what she meant. He was _always_ calm. Hermione also said that he was thoughtful. Harry knew that he now thought things through before he opened his mouth. He didn't know if it was to do with getting them caught by the Snatchers during the Hunt or if he just didn't have anything important to say anymore. Either way, it was something that had definitely changed about him.

Apparently, quite a few _other_ things had changed as well. One morning, Harry Potter woke up and he just couldn't look at his best friend without heat rising up his neck. Hermione also happened to be the only person he wanted to talk to about it. He had no idea if this was something he would be able to talk to Ron about. How could he admit to the redhead that perhaps he'd been wrong to say their mutual best friend was loved like a sister? If that were indeed the case, Harry was dreaming of incest, which was beyond disturbing.

When the bell signaling the end of the lesson sounded, Harry's body stiffened in anticipation. He was actually just eager to see her. The first students to walk out were Padma and Parvati, who greeted Harry quite heartily before heading off down the corridor. Harry had to wait a full minute before Hermione finally emerged, followed closely by Michael Corner.

"I'll meet you in the library in ten minutes," Hermione said to the Ravenclaw boy, before she turned her attention to Harry. "Hi you," she said, smiling a smile that nearly turned him into a puddle. She was almost looking at him like she _knew_.

"Hi," he said, grinning at her.

She looked at his empty, fidgeting hands. "What? No muffin?"

"I was kind of hoping to give you something a little sweeter," he said. Then he shook his head, silently berating himself. What did that even mean? Why would you even say such a thing, Potter?

Hermione gave him a confused look but didn't comment. "Come on, walk me to Gryffindor Tower. I need to pick up fresh parchment."

Harry fell into step beside her. Of course, he'd wanted to ask her if they could go and talk somewhere private but she seemed to have already made other plans. Whatever he had to say could definitely wait but he still had to ask the question. "Why are you meeting Corner in the library?"

"Because we're going to make passionate love," she said teasingly, easily making his breath hitch. At his look of complete horror, Hermione let out a nervous laugh. "I'm kidding, Harry. We're working on an assignment that Professor Vector just gave us. We're supposed to do it in pairs."

Harry couldn't rid his mind of the image of Hermione and Corner in a lip-lock, or more... He was literally trembling at such a thought. How could she be so casual about it?

"Harry?"

He shook himself out of his twisted thoughts. "Sorry. What?"

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

She gave him a sideways look. "Don't do that. You know what I'm talking about. This is s _trange_ Harry in front of me."

Without a word, he put his arm around her shoulders as they continued to walk. "I missed you is all," he said softly. "And I hate Arithmancy."

Hermione laughed, not at all put off by the contact. She even slipped her arm around his waist to make their positions more comfortable. It always amazed her that they fit so well. Others usually bumped hips or walked out of sync. "You'd love it if you took it," she said. "It'd definitely give you more of a challenge than everything else you're doing now."

"Hermione, there is absolutely nothing you could possibly say or do to make me _want_ to do Arithmancy."

It was a sentence said so easily that both of them could believe its innocence. Harry would later come to take back his words with vehement viciousness. The anger even surprised him. For, on that fateful Tuesday, Harry Potter sat alone at a table in the library and watched as Michael Corner shamelessly flirted with his Hermione. It really was a test of his control, he supposed, that he didn't rise from his seat and bludgeon the Ravenclaw seventh year right into the cold, hard ground.

"Keep it together, Potter," he muttered to himself as he dropped his head and read through his notes from Ancient Runes, which he'd taken up after the Hunt. It quickly became apparent that he wouldn't be able to concentrate when Hermione's giggling was filling his ears. When did Hermione even giggle? She was definitely not a _giggling_ type of girl.

Harry found himself getting irritated. _He_ was supposed to be sitting with Hermione. _He_ was supposed to be at her side, making her laugh - like normal - and it was eating away at his insides in a way that he'd never experienced before.

Because Harry _had_ been in this position before. Not that he thought Hermione and Corner would ever actually be a _thing_. It was just that he had sat on the sidelines and watched the human being of his affection interact with someone else one too many times. This time, though, it felt different. All Hermione and Corner were doing was talking and Harry was ready to eviscerate the boy from existence.

When Luna, Ginny and Neville rolled into the library, Harry immediately beckoned them over with a gesture with his hand. They were surprised to find Hermione not sitting with him. After muttering the reason behind his and Hermione's separation, the four settled in to work on their History of Magic essays due Friday. It was the type of work that required other people, to make sure that nobody fell asleep while working.

It took almost two hours for each of them to get at least three substantial paragraphs done, which made Harry believe the afternoon was rather productive, given that the subject _was_ History of Magic.

Productive in that regard, at least.

"Want to head to the Great Hall for dinner?" Neville asked eventually.

The remaining three all nodded, immediately starting to pack up their things. Once Harry was done, he turned to the other three: "You guys go on. I'll get Hermione."

As he moved towards the table at which Hermione and Corner were sitting, it never once occurred to him that Hermione would send him away. It never once crossed his mind that she would tell him to go on without her. As soon as he said her name, the way they both looked up at him told him that he was bothering them, which was something that Harry doubted he would ever forget.

In a moment, he felt like a burden.

"Potter?" Corner sounded.

Harry kept his eyes on Hermione. "We're going to dinner. Are you coming?"

"You go on," she said easily. "We're getting to an interesting part here. I'll see you later for patrol."

Harry stared at her for a moment, not quite understanding what she said. Then, from the impatient look on her face, he did. "Oh." Without another word, he turned and headed right out of the library, his heart rising up into his throat. It suddenly wasn't even about the fact that she was the girl he had deep feelings for talking to another boy. No. It was so much more than that now. In a moment, Harry's existence had been an inconvenience.

He surmised that he was probably overreacting. It didn't mean anything. She was just so engrossed in her work. Harry had seen it happen before. He should have seen the signs before he approached her, just so he didn't have to feel this way.

But he did feel it, and he needed Hermione to help him stop it.

Harry did not go to the Great Hall. He suddenly didn't feel very hungry. In fact, he didn't feel like seeing or talking to anybody. So, instead, he made his way to Gryffindor Tower, climbed the stairs two at a time and disappeared behind his bed curtains of the Head Boy's room. His emotions were running rampant and he needed to get them under control before something awful happened. His mind was most dangerous when Harry lost hold of his thoughts. It took on a life of its own, taking him down dark, torturous paths.

Harry lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to rid his mind of the dark thoughts. It hadn't been his intention to fall asleep but unconsciousness soon claimed him and he was hit by painful nightmares, ranging from the fight with the basilisk right to his final battle with Voldemort. The dueling lights surrounded him and the sounds of people dying around him engulfed every fibre of his being.

Hermione found Harry writhing in bed. He was slashing at the air, his body seizing uncontrollably and he was screaming. Like, _really_ screaming. She immediately cast a Silencing Charm around him and climbed onto the bed, careful to avoid being swiped by one of his flailing arms. Early in their arrangement, they'd promised to wake each other from the terrible dreams. Hermione didn't have to be the smartest witch of their generation to know that this one was a particularly bad one.

"Harry?" she said, starting slow and soft as if the gentleness of her voice could get through the anguish so clearly etched into his face. He was even sweating. When that didn't work - as she suspected it wouldn't - Hermione straddled Harry's waist and grabbed hold of his arms, pinning them down on the bed. She hated having to force him awake almost as much as she was sure he did too. It was dangerous for both of them, but she wouldn't want to exist in a nightmare any more than he would. "Harry?" Louder this time. "Harry, wake up. Please wake up, Harry!"

Hermione was made vaguely aware of Neville entering the room and coming to stand at their side. He looked ashen at the sight of his friend.

"Neville," Hermione practically growled at the boy. "Do you think you and Ginny can handle our patrol tonight?" It was difficult to hold Harry down and talk to Neville at the same time but she was just managing it. "Neville!"

"Shouldn't I stay?" he managed to get out.

"No!" she barked. "I don't need help," she added more calmly, even as Harry forced his one arm out of her grip. "And I'm sure Harry doesn't want you to see this. Please, Neville. Please go."

Neville's eyes darted from her face to Harry's, and then back to hers. Then, with a slight nod of his head, he silently backed out of the room.

Hermione turned her full attention back to Harry. She pressed down on his arms hard and brought her face closer to his. "Harry! Wake up! Wake up, I'm here. I'm here. It's okay." She was contemplating slapping him, because it was something that had worked before. She was just glad she didn't have to when his eyes snapped open. In a flurry of action - or inaction on her part - Harry sat up abruptly, knocking her right off of him, and she landed on the floor with a thud.

Harry looked around, his eyes blinking rapidly. He had no idea where he was or what was happening. Only the sound of Hermione's calm voice set a marker for him. He turned his attention to her as she slowly stood, rubbing her bottom of the pain of her sudden landing. His eyes were already filling with tears. "Hermione?" he cried.

She had her arms around him in the next instant, rocking him gently. "It's okay," she whispered, rubbing his back. "It's okay."

"Don't leave me," he found himself mumbling into her shoulder. "Don't leave me, Hermione."

"I'm right here," she told him strongly. "I'm here, Harry."

He was bumbling like a scared little boy and he hated himself for it. This wasn't him. This had never been him. Even while he'd been beaten as a child, he'd remained strong. He'd faced Voldemort countless times and never wavered. What was _this_? "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just don't go."

And she continued to hold him, her grip never loosening.

Harry slowly, carefully, moved to hold her back, eventually clutching at her as he came down from his emotional seizure. He felt exhausted.

"Lie back," Hermione instructed him.

"No, don't go," he said quickly, panic raising his heartbeat.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, her tone light and reassuring. "I promise. I just want to lie down with you."

Harry slowly lay back against his pillows, pulling her down with him. Once they were settled in position, with Hermione in the crook of his arm, her ear pressed to his heart; Harry let out an amused breath. "I'm sorry about tossing you earlier."

"As am I."

Harry said nothing.

She snuggled in closer to him, breathing him in. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He swallowed, not really wanting to relive what he had just relived. "It was everything all at once," he eventually said. "It was a bad one, Hermione. Thank you for being here."

Hermione swallowed. Lie. "I'll always be here, Harry. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

As much as Harry tried to believe her words, her actions were telling a different story. Harry was sure that they were things she wasn't actually doing on purpose. She probably had no idea what she was doing to him and he wouldn't tell her, because they were _supposed_ to be learning how to survive without the other. As far as he could tell, he was a terrible student.

Hermione spent most, if not all, of her free time working on her Arithmancy project, which meant that she was spending most, if not all, of her free time with Michael Corner.

Harry tried not to think about it too much. It was just a phase. Once the project was over, Hermione would come back to him and they could finally have that talk about those feelings that he couldn't possibly say out loud to anyone other than her.

The problem really was that the stupid Arithmancy project was a rather large project, to be handed in on the day before they departed for the Christmas Holiday, which was literally months away. Harry had growled internally when she told him that part. The project counted for majority of Hermione's term mark, so she definitely wasn't going to slack, as much as Harry pleaded. She always told him that they would spend alone time together during their patrols, which Harry eventually accepted. Any time with her was gratefully received.

Tending towards masochistic behaviour, Harry insisted on sitting at his usual table where he could keep an eye on Hermione and Corner. It was a little under two weeks after they'd received the project when Harry noticed that their heads were getting closer together whenever they pored over the same book. The entire thing kept a permanent scowl on his face. And, as he sat there, he knew there really wasn't anything he could do about it without revealing that he had a serious problem with merely the fact that the boy was within a metre of Hermione.

Harry was leaning over his Charms homework when a voice he was sure he would never _actually_ hear again interrupted his already-wayward thoughts: "I bet you wish you were doing Arithmancy right about now, don't you?"

Harry whipped his head around to see the owner of the voice staring at him rather darkly. "What?" he hissed.

Daphne Greengrass threw some of her loose blonde hair behind her shoulder with her right hand. "Stop staring at them. It's creepy."

Harry just blinked. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Didn't you hear, the whole damn school system has gone and died? I can have conversations with whomever I want now."

Harry would have responded but the sound of Hermione's laugh caught his attention and he had to look back at where she was still sitting with Michael Corner, her hand on his arm as she candidly berated him for something he must have said.

Daphne let out a long whistle. "Wow, you've got it bad, Potter," she said, smiling slightly.

Harry didn't respond.

"Piece of advice: stop staring. It's incredibly sad. It's only a school project, you know? Once it's done, she'll be right back with you."

Harry wanted to ask how she could be sure but that would mean admitting something he wasn't ready to. Why should he be worried about Hermione spending time with other... boys?

"Although..." Daphne added, her eyes practically glowing with Slytherin charm. "I mean, Corner _is_ rather good looking. He's also smart. I can definitely see the appeal."

"You're not helping," Harry found himself muttering.

Daphne let out a light laugh. "Who said I was trying to help?"

Harry had enough. "Right," he said hotly, gathering his things and stuffing them into his book bag rather violently. "How could I ever be so stupid to think that a Slytherin would dream of helping _me_?" he stood up, his chair falling to the ground, drawing unwanted attention to himself. "Of course you'd enjoy seeing all of this. I'm so glad nothing's changed."

Harry didn't want her words to have affected him as much as they did but he really didn't need anyone reveling in the fact that Hermione was currently in an eye lock with Michael Corner.

He lifted his chair and pushed it in rather harshly, drawing even more attention. He swore under his breath. "If you'll excuse me." Then he stalked out of the library, anger rumbling all around him. He could literally feel himself losing control of his magic. He needed to find something to focus on, before he burned a literal hole into the ground.

Most people had watched the exchange between Harry and Daphne with keen interest. Why would Slytherin's ice-queen be talking to Gryffindor's golden boy?

"What do you think that was all about?" Corner asked Hermione, as they returned their attention back to the open book in front of them after witnessing the mild spectacle.

Hermione was thoughtful. "I don't know," she said softly. "She was probably just passing a remark or something."

Corner watched her face for a moment, trying to read her facial expression. "What's bothering you?"

She shook her head. "Oh, nothing. Where were we?"

Corner leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not reading another sentence until you tell me what's on your mind."

She gave him a genuine smile. "It really is nothing," she assured him but he wasn't having any of it. "Okay... It's just that she must have said something pretty damning for Harry to flee," she explained her thoughts. "He normally doesn't do that."

Corner just nodded his understanding. "Do you want to go and check on him? We can take a break if you want, or even continue tomorrow?"

Hermione regarded the boy for a moment, tempted to take him up on his offer. Eventually, she shook her head. "No, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll talk to him later."

Corner just stared at her, slightly disbelieving.

Hermione noticed. "What?"

"I don't know," he said shrugging. "I guess, well, if I were him, I would want my girlfriend to check on me."

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare at him. "Michael, I'm not Harry's girlfriend, you know?"

That seemed to surprise him. "You're not?"

"Definitely not."

"But you're always together," he pointed out. "And holding hands and stuff."

Hermione looked him in the eyes, her tone almost severe, a testament of her own strong beliefs. There would never be any more.. "Harry and I are best friends, Michael. Nothing more."

Michael just stared, taking in her words.

"And if you thought I was his girlfriend, why have you been flirting with me?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Wishful thinking," he said, shrugging.

Hermione couldn't stop her blush.

With all the new information, slowly, a smile crept across Corner's face, his eyes even lighting up with the possibility. "Well, if that really is the case, then, what are you doing for Hogsmeade weekend?"

* * *

Harry would say that he handled it quite well. When Hermione told him that Michael Corner had asked her out, Harry did not shout, curse, cry or pass out. It did, however, break his fleeting heart and render him speechless.

Wait. What?

He also didn't express the right amount of enthusiasm _apparently_. He managed to tell her that it was his job to be suspicious of possible suitors, seeing as he was her family, which was a sentence that deeply bothered him.

Not only was it a complete and utter lie, it also painted him as her _brother_. He practically cringed as he said the words.

What made it worse, at least for Hermione, was that neither Ginny nor Luna were excited for her either. In truth, Harry had no idea why _that_ was. He had his own reasons and he was left to muse about what theirs were.

Hermione merely took it in stride. The only person who showed remotely any interest in her tales about Corner was Neville. Not that he had much choice in the matter though. Poor Neville. Once Hermione caught you, she kept you caged by talking _at_ you. Harry found it rather endearing. Others, well, others found it rather frightening. Harry probably loved her more for it.

When news spread about Hermione's impending visit to Hogsmeade with Michael Corner, it was officially 'open season' on Harry. Ginny explained to him that majority of the Castle were convinced that he and Hermione were an item. Now that it was proven that they weren't, Potter was fair game once more. At this, Harry buried his face in his hands and Ginny just laughed sympathetically.

It started slow. Only the braver girls attempted to approach him at first and, being Harry, he was terribly polite to them. He even made the mistake of flashing one a smile and she all but nearly passed out. If Harry wasn't so disturbed by the entire thing, he might have even laughed.

Hermione found it all rather hilarious, and Harry wasn't able to determine if it was a good or bad thing. The fact that she wasn't taking it seriously was good but the fact that it didn't make her stand up and take notice was bad. Very bad. It seemed that she was _okay_ with the thought of Harry interacting with various other girls. Was she really?

After that entire thing with Emily, she'd appeared a little cold, but _this_? She seemed almost _happy_ for him. Was that Corner's doing? Didn't she care?

Damn.

"You'll protect me from them, won't you?" Harry asked Ginny one night as they sat at the Gryffindor table for dinner. "I can face Voldemort and dragons any day but this is too much."

Ginny, once more, just laughed. "I'll flank your right, Harry, don't worry."

"And I'll be on your left," Luna said.

In that moment, it was painfully clear to them that Hermione would no longer be at Harry's side. In the days since she agreed to go to Hogsmeade with Corner, they'd seen less and less of her. And not only Harry was feeling the gaping hole that her absence left. Like at this moment, she was somewhere in the library, practically tucked into Corner's side as they read through some decrepit book about that horrific project that was slowly stealing his best friend.

Because of it, Harry was in a constant state of anxiety. His nightmares were at an obscene level of quantity and ruthlessness, and he was barely sleeping. All he wanted was Hermione. All of her, in every way possible.

With kind eyes, Ginny turned her gaze towards Harry. "Are you okay, Harry?"

He wasn't brave enough to respond.

"Does it bother you, when you see Hermione and Michael together?"

The way Ginny asked the question took Harry back to a night in his sixth year. It wasn't a particularly pleasant memory but he definitely had worse ones. The horrific role reversal between the two witches made his breath hitch. It was almost amazing how life had changed since then. At the time, he'd been worried over things so futile when the Dark Lord was running rampant. Now he could worry about the _simple_ things without feeling guilty about setting aside the fact that he was the one with the 'Power He Knows Not' to defeat the darkest wizard of their generation.

"Because it definitely bothers me," Ginny added when Harry still didn't respond immediately.

Harry looked at her. "Because you dated him?"

Ginny thought about that for a moment as if he was just reminding of such a thing happening some years ago. "Not exactly." She seemed to think about it some more. "Okay, just think about this for a moment: Michael dated me, he dated Cho and now he's going to date Hermione. It's like he's _trying_ to be you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Seriously, Ginny?"

"Seriously, Harry. Just think about it. It's really kind of creepy actually. He's basically dated everyone you've been interested in."

Harry's eyes widened. "That's not true. I've never been interested in Hermione."

Luna looked at him when he said that, though she said nothing. He suspected she was seeing all the _nargles_ descending on his face from the potency of his lie. Though, he had to determine that he wasn't fully lying. He'd never been _interested_ in Hermione. It just went from 'she's my best friend' to 'this is the girl I want to be with for the rest of my life' in such a short time. There wasn't much, if any, in between.

"Sure Harry," Ginny said knowingly, risking a smile.

Harry swallowed. Then, when he spoke, his voice was barely audible in the Great Hall. "He's not terrible, is he? I mean, he'll treat her right and stuff?"

Ginny nodded once, realising that he needed the affirmation, not an explanation.

Luna spoke up about the matter: "Though I suspect you want the date to go badly, don't you, Harry?"

Harry just shrugged before returning his attention to his plate of food, not wanting to answer. He'd decided not to comment too much. He definitely didn't speak to Hermione about his feelings about the entire situation and, whenever she brought it up, he always tried to change the subject.

Ginny looked at Luna before leaning in to whisper: "Oh, he totally does, doesn't he?"

Luna nodded, her eyes drifting towards the distracted Harry. "I do believe he has figured _it_ out."

Ginny beamed. "That's good then, right?"

Luna turned her attention to the girl sitting at her side, her face passive. "Maybe."

"Maybe? What do you mean maybe?"

Luna looked back towards Harry, who was picking at his food without trying to draw attention to the fact that he wasn't eating. "Look at him, Ginny," Luna whispered. "It's great that he's figured it out, but if she doesn't soon then I think that we're going to end up losing him in a way we never expected."

Ginny's smile disappeared at the sound of that. "Well, then, I guess that we're going to have to do something about that, aren't we?"

"He wouldn't want us to interfere, Ginny."

"So, what? Are we just expected to sit here and just watch this happen? It's killing _me_ to see it. I can only imagine how he must feel."

Luna didn't appear at all emotional about the situation. Ginny needed her calm head. "It's all going to work out in the end," she said seriously. "I foresee it."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

 _Oh Harry. There you are! I've been looking for you... I just got back. I'm guessing you don't really_ _want to know the details but the date was amazing! I think it's important you know that he didn't even ask me about the Hunt. I thought he would have; everybody else seems to. ... He told me about how he was tortured by the Carrows. It was horrible, Harry. I always feel guilty about the way we just left them all here to defend themselves. Neville, Ginny, Luna. ... We talked about so many things. I guess I lost track of time. ..._

Harry almost growled as Hermione talked _at_ him about her date. He was lying on his bed with his fingers knitted behind his head, watching her as she excitedly recounted all that happened during her _excursion_. She was too wired to even sit down. Harry was waiting patiently, gearing himself up for the possibility that she would tell him that they kissed. He'd spent hours preparing himself but even he had to know that no preparation would be enough.

Once Hermione was relatively talked out - thankfully not mentioning anything to do with joined lips - she finally climbed onto the bed, making him shift his legs out of the way. "Sorry, I'm just going on and on about my day. How was your visit? I know I was supposed to meet you guys at the Three Broomsticks but, like I said, we just lost track of time."

He hated how dismissive she was about it. They'd waited for her for almost an hour before Ginny gave up and dragged them all back to the Castle.

"What did you get up to?" Hermione asked, not noticing the slight scowl on his face, which was a real testament to how out of sorts the two of them were.

"I tried to find you," Harry said, allowing himself to show her his irritation. "Where did you go?"

Hermione had the decency to look remorseful. "We went for a walk."

"We waited, Hermione," he said, sitting up and looking at her rather pointedly. "Did you forget? I mean, I reminded you this morning! You were supposed to be there!"

"Why are you so mad?"

Harry wasn't even really _mad_ at her. That was the thing. He was disappointed, and it really had nothing to do with the fact that she hadn't shown up for _him_. He could easily get over _that_ but this was different. "Because, Hermione," he finally said, the defeat he felt filling his tone of voice. "You said you would be there. He kept asking for you and I kept having to lie."

That made her frown. "What? Who?"

"Ron," he told her, his eyes dark and serious. "He and George met us at the pub. Ron wanted to surprise you with how well he's doing and you weren't even bothered to show up." Though, now that Harry thought about it, meeting at the Three Broomsticks had probably been a bad idea, but Ron seemed perfectly fine. He really was doing well.

Hermione pressed her lips together. "He was here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry nodded.

"How is he?"

"He's fine," Harry said curtly.

"I'm sorry," Hermione forced out, swallowing her own words. "I didn't know, Harry. You know I would have been there if I had known. You know that. If you'd just told me..."

"He wanted it to be a surprise," he forced out. "And, normally, when you say that you're going to be there, you usually mean it. I didn't think I had anything to worry about."

She sighed. "What did you tell him? How is he, really?"

Harry just lay back down, unable to look at her remorse. She looked so... pretty. He'd already forgiven her, really, but he was determined not to show that to her, for Ron's sake.

"Harry?"

He said nothing.

"Harry? Talk to me." She moved onto her knees to get a better look at his face. "You _have_ to forgive me."

Still, he said nothing.

Slowly, she started to smile as a thought came to mind. "Harry Potter, you talk to me right now. I won't survive without you!" Then, before he could even react, Hermione was on top of him, her hands seeking out his known tickle spots on his upper body.

"Hermione!" he squealed in a very _un_ Harry-like manner. "Stop it! Get off!"

"Not until you forgive me!" she persisted. "See! It's not very nice, is it?"

As much as Harry fought, she just wouldn't let up. Eventually, he gave into the laughter, his head tilting back as it erupted from within him. "Her...mio...ne! Sto-op! Pleeease!"

"Do you forgive me? Tell me you forgive me!"

"No!"

"Say it!" she said over his protests, reinforcing her tickle attack. "I can't hear you!"

"No! Hermione!"

"Tell me you forgive me!"

"Okay, okay! I forgive you," he finally relented, unable to breathe. "I forgive you, okay! Stop, just stop!"

Hermione stopped, but she remained on top of him and she wasn't moving. "I'm sorry," she said again, her face right over his and her breath mingling with his. "Do you really forgive me?"

Harry nodded dumbly, suddenly very aware of Hermione's position _on_ him. "I do."

"Good," she said, finally rolling off of him and sitting up. "Now tell me about Ron. How is he really?"

Harry also sat up, his breath caught and his heart rate _almost_ calm. It was never really calm when he was now in her presence. "He's fine, really. He actually looks quite good. Even thinning out a little bit. Luna was even eyeing him. Made me supremely uncomfortable."

Hermione's eyes widened. "No?"

"I kid you not," Harry said, enjoying being able to tell Hermione this. It felt like they hadn't talked in days. "He was totally looking too. It was actually quite awkward for me, particularly when Neville and Ginny started ogling each other."

"What? When did that happen?"

"You've been rather preoccupied," he said, dropping his gaze.

She took a deep breath, choosing to say nothing.

"I suppose it's my turn to find a lucky lady before I end up a spinster," Harry just said, not entirely sure _where_ it came from. He mentally kicked himself for saying such a thing.

Hermione didn't know why she laughed but she couldn't hold it in. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" She placed her hand on his chest. "Though, from what I've seen, you've got girls falling all over you."

He swallowed. "Well, then, you're just seeing things," he muttered, definitely not wanting to broach the topic of girls with Hermione. Not anymore. It was painful enough hearing her talk about other boys without bringing further heartache into the equation.

Hermione also didn't push it. It was just something she didn't _want_ to talk about and she didn't stop to think about why that may be. Eventually, she got up off the bed and straightened out her clothes. "I should probably draft a letter to Ron," she said, slipping into bookworm-Hermione mode. "Can I come get you before I go to the Owlery?"

Harry nodded. "If I'm not in here, I'll be in my other room."

She laughed softly. "Okay."

"You can even use Thaddeus, if he agrees that is. Apparently I'm a magnet for temperamental owls." His thoughts drifted to his first familiar, Hedwig and tears seemed to spring to his eyes. He was able to force them away and, from the determined look on his face, Hermione knew not to question him about it.

Since when was _he_ the crier?

Though, before she left, she gave Harry a featherlight kiss on his forehead and lingered there, as if she was still trying to convey just how sorry she was. Really, it only made Harry feel worse. He wanted her to linger for entirely different reasons.

* * *

Hermione and Michael.

Merlin.

Michael and Hermione.

Bloody Michael Corner.

When the school wasn't talking about Harry and his various _exploits_ , they were talking about his best friend and her new beau. To Harry's relief, though, Hermione seemed to miss out on all the talk about her. He wouldn't want her to have to deal with what he did, every single day. For him, though, the staring was worse now that the bushy-haired girl wasn't always at his side.

Thankfully, true to their words, Ginny and Luna spent their time flanking him whenever they were moving between classes. Even Neville had to become a human shield at times. Some of the girls were forceful and Harry was too polite to beat them away. Fortunately, Ginny wasn't. In fact, Harry was quite sure that she rather enjoyed it. He was even starting to query her position on the Quidditch team - the girl was surely supposed to be a Beater.

Every evening at dinner, she and Neville would laugh over whatever antics they'd had to pull during the day to get Harry safely from place to place.

"This can't go on forever," Harry eventually said, quite a few days into his _not-entirely-_ new status as Wizarding Bachelor No. 1. They were having dinner in the Great Hall sans Hermione, who was holed up in the library with Corner. "They'll have to give up eventually, surely. They'll have to take the hint at some point."

Neville just laughed, though he was sympathetic. "I don't know, Harry. They seem really determined. You're a prize to be won."

Harry did not consider himself to be anything special. In his mind, all he had really done was what he had been born to do. He had defeated the Dark Lord. It didn't make him any more special than if it had been Neville marked as Voldemort's equal. Harry actually found it rather disturbing that the fact that he was a halfblood was the reason he was the Chosen One.

"Don't think about it too much," Luna said to Harry. "It will all be over soon." That made the three present Gryffindors frown. Even Susan and Hannah seemed to raise their eyebrows at the Ravenclaw's declaration.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry found himself asking.

"The girls will soon stop chasing you," the white-haired witch elaborated, her voice dreamier than usual. "I foresee it."

Harry would have questioned her further but he was convinced he wouldn't get a straight answer. What reason would the girls possibly have to stop chasing him? Would be end up doing something so unattractive that they lost interest? He wasn't sure what his thoughts were on that happening.

Maybe Hermione and Corner would break up? Yes, he could definitely go for that. If that were indeed the case, Harry would have reached across the table and kissed Luna right there, but he remained firmly in his seat, his heart rate picking up from cautious excitement.

It was the only thing he was able to hang onto as he went through the motions of schoolwork and increasing Quidditch practices. He needed his team to be ready so that they could wipe the floor with Ravenclaw. Harry would only admit to himself that he desperately wanted to wipe the smug look off of Corner's face.

The two boys had never been particularly friendly with each other before and throwing Hermione into the mix wasn't helping. Harry had accepted - even tolerated - his presence in Dumbledore's Army and he would even - though begrudgingly - admit that the boy was a decent duelist. He'd been an asset against Voldemort's numerous forces and Harry would always be grateful for that. But this was different. Harry didn't know why it was, but it all felt a little too _personal_ for Harry's liking.

Ginny still maintained her theory that Corner was only interested in Hermione because of Harry, but the raven-haired wizard wouldn't accept it. He just couldn't believe that Corner would be the type of boy to use Hermione so unsavourily. Hermione was smart enough to be able to see right through something like that. And, as much as Harry hated to admit it, whatever the two of them were feeling for each other was, pobably, real.

And because he was determined not to interfere, as he had promised; Harry hung onto the fleeting moments he did have with Hermione. Now that she was actually _dating_ someone, Harry's thoughts twisted towards other thoughts. With both of them so occupied on other things - she, Corner and he, trying not to kill Corner - they rarely found themselves drifting towards painful thoughts and darkened memories while he was awake. Harry supposed that was one good thing to come out of having Corner wreak havoc with his most constant friendship.

It wasn't as if he stopped thinking about the War entirely though. He just stopped dreaming about _Hermione_ in the War, which he would accept. Having her alive and well in his dreams, even if she was in another boy's arms, would trump her pained screams and bloody body any day. It wasn't even a question.

As the days went past, Harry even started to forget about what Luna said. The more he was subjected to Hermione and Corner, the worse he felt. He didn't know how much more he could take before he all but blew up in their faces about something that would probably be totally unrelated to the fact that they kept sneaking looks at each other and smiling secretively.

Harry wouldn't call what he was feeling jealousy. It did hurt when he realised that Hermione didn't seem to need him as much as she used to. What made him feel a bit better about it was that that was what they had set out to have happen. She'd said it wasn't healthy for them to be so reliant on each other. Above all, her recovery was the most important thing. And if Corner was helping her with that, he vowed not to do anything to get in the way.

Her happiness; her recovery - they were the most important. He wouldn't do anything to derail that, unless the situation demanded it. He wasn't that selfish.

Which was why Harry found himself in the library, alone. It was relatively empty, which was something he always appreciated. Nobody to look at him. He quickly made his way to his usual table - which was vacant - to get started on his work so he could be relatively done with it when he met up with Hermione for their patrol later that evening.

Before he reached the table, though, the sound of a voice stopped him. "Harry?"

He turned to see Hermione looking at him rather expectantly. "Hey," he managed to get out, his voice defying how hopeless he suddenly felt in her presence. He frowned slightly, asking the question with his eyes.

"I was wondering if I could talk to you about something," she said, absently playing with her hands in front of her stomach.

Harry knew he wasn't going to like whatever it was she wanted to say. Merely the fact that she couldn't even meet his gaze was enough of an indication. His stomach twisted in trepidation "Sure. What's up?"

She smiled at him for the first time in what felt like a very long time. "Well," she paused, clearing her throat. "I was wondering what your stance was on changing patrol partners," she said, her voice light and unassuming.

Harry found himself frowning, more out of confusion than anything. "What?"

"The thing is, well, Michael wants to spend more time with me and I thought our prefect patrols would be the perfect opportunity. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

 _No no no!_ Harry wasn't sure what to say. Every nerve in his brain was screaming for him to tell her that he would definitely mind but those words would never leave his mouth. She looked so endearing, and so... excited. It was something new, something different, and it brought out a look on her face that he'd never seen before. How could he ever deny her that? So he found himself agreeing without all parts of his body being on board with the ghastly decision.

"We'll have to check with Padma first," he added, wishing he didn't sound so shaken by this horrible turn of events. He'd taken pleasure in knowing that their patrols were something that he and Hermione would still have, given everything that was happening. He'd stupidly thought that they were sacred, as if they held within them such value now that they were back at the routine of attending school. Clearly, they didn't mean as much to her as they did to him.

Or they did. Just not _with_ him.

He hated Michael Corner even more now.

"You're the best," Hermione said, grinning at him happily. Could he have ever denied her that? She even reached up and kissed his cheek before she scurried away, probably in search of Corner to tell him the news.

Harry could only stand and watch her retreating form in longing, and a pain in a chest that he could only term heartache.

"Well, that was probably the saddest thing I've ever seen."

That voice. Harry let out an exaggerated sigh as he turned to face the person who had spoken. "What do you have to say now, Greengrass?"

She smiled innocently at him. "You're going to have to tell her soon, you know?"

"Tell her what?" he growled.

"That you love her," she said, her gaze softening in a way Harry wasn't sure a Slytherin could even manage.

Harry bit back a retort, the fear at the sound of her words temporarily paralyzing him. "What?" he managed to get out.

The tall Slytherin shrugged. "Oh don't do that. Everyone can see it. The way you stare after her, it's just so... pathetic."

"Thanks," he muttered, falling into an even fouler mood. He didn't need this. Especially not from Daphne Greengrass. "If you'll excuse me," he added with venom. "I'm going to go over there and be pathetic by myself. Wouldn't want to rub off on you."

Before Harry could turn and walk away, Daphne grabbed hold of the sleeve of his robes, keeping him in place.

"Greengrass," he said pointedly, his eyes drifting back to her face. What he saw surprised him. He was expecting a self-satisfied smirk or even a scowl but what he got was a look of regret, or even sorrow.

"Potter," she said hotly. "Could you just wait five seconds while I get all the Slytherin out of me and we can have a proper conversation?"

Harry didn't know why but he found himself smiling in amusement. He folded his arms over his chest. "Then we're going to be here a while, aren't we?"

She released his robes, finding that she too was caught by an unexplainable smile. "I'm failing quite dismally at what I'm trying to tell you," she said, her eyes focused on him. "What I'm trying to say is that I want to help."

Harry remained expressionless, though he was beyond confused. This whole thing couldn't be real. He was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He didn't know what was more disturbing: that he was talking to Daphne Greengrass or that she was potentially in his dreams.

"Help with what?" Harry asked dumbly.

"You and Granger."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," he said, his voice annoyingly unsteady.

"Oh, come on, the signs are all there. You're totally hopeless over her, and it really doesn't help that she's so hung up on that idiot, Corner."

"You have way too much time on your hands," Harry said dismissively. "Really, Greengrass, you're just talking nonsense. There's nothing to see here. You can just go back down to the dungeon and tell them I played along. Whatever. I don't even care."

Daphne had the sense of mind to look hurt by his accusation. "I won't blame you for thinking this is all some trick," she said, whipping her neck back and moving her growing fringe away from her eyes. "But I promise you that this isn't some game. I'm generally interested in helping you."

Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. "But why?" he asked, his voice low and disbelieving.

Daphne suddenly got very serious. "Because I recognize that look in your eye, Potter. I see it every morning in the mirror." Her eyes glazed over for a moment, losing focus in her longing for something unattainable.

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Malfoy."

She seemed surprised that he easily guessed it, but she didn't comment. She'd managed to figure he and Granger out; why wouldn't he? "I hate that I love him," she said, shaking her head as if disgusted with herself. "He's always been so vile and arrogant and showboaty and obnoxious and just plain mean. You don't have to point those things out to me already. Trust me, I know them.

"But, I just don't know what it is. With me, he's just... different. And now he's in his own self-professed isolation of recovery. He won't talk to anyone. Not even Zabini. I can't possibly tell him what I feel, can I? He could close off from the world entirely, right? The trauma could end up being too much, right? He's not ready. We both aren't."

Harry couldn't come up with a single reason as to why she was telling him any of this. It all seemed so personal. Harry Potter was definitely the last person Daphne Greengrass should be telling things about Malfoy's recovery.

Daphne shook her head hard, as if she were just remembering that she was in fact talking to one Harry Potter. "I said that all out loud, didn't I?"

Harry nodded his head.

She pressed her lips together. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"I won't," he said softly, kindly, truthfully. Recovering from all that happened was something precious to him. He wouldn't want anyone to divulge his secrets either. "You want to help me because you feel like you can't help him," he stated. There was no hint of it being a question.

Daphne met his gaze, looking unsure for the first time since she starting speaking to him. " _Can_ I help you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about, remember?"

She smiled. "You totally do. I know you've figured it out, and it's definitely about time."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He was fully aware of people staring at them, waiting for them to break into a fight or have one of them storm off in a fit of rage like the last time they spoke.

"The Slytherin in me would probably say just hex the life out of Corner but Granger would probably hate you if you did that."

Harry would not admit to what she thought he felt for Hermione. He just wouldn't. It just didn't feel right saying it to a stranger when he couldn't even say it to Hermione. "I think more than just Hermione would have a problem with that," he said softly.

She laughed. "That's true. Maybe don't do that. We'll come up with something."

"We?"

"I said I was going to help you, didn't I? I'm pretty sure you heard me when I said that."

Harry gave her a look.

She smiled innocently. "Come on, we've got a lot of planning to do. Plus, we've got that Potions essay to work on, don't we?"

Harry frowned. "Actually, I have been wanting to find out... I thought you didn't do N.E.W.T. Level Potions?"

She raised a shoulder. "Based on the fact that this _is_ in fact my eighth year at Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn decided that I could handle myself in his class. So far, it hasn't been terrible. But I'm quite stuck in my essay. We should work on them."

"I've finished mine," Harry said.

Daphne took hold of the sleeve of his robes, clutching tightly. "Well then you can help me with mine, _friend_."

Harry knew he should be cautious. He couldn't afford to forget who he was dealing with, but he still threw caution to the wind and allowed her to pull him along. They found a table in a quiet area and Daphne dumped her book bag on the table before she sat down, pulling Harry into a chair right beside her. They had their backs to the onlookers which was perfectly fine with Harry until he started to think that he wouldn't see the attack coming if there so happened to be one.

Trying to remain calm, he sat back and watched her take her things out of her bag, setting them up rather nearly in front of her. It reminded him of Hermione in a way that really confused him.

Daphne took out a quill, dipped it in ink and wrote down two words on a fresh piece of parchment.

Harry strained his eyes to see the words. _Get Granger_. He couldn't stop his smile. "Please tell me you aren't thinking of kidnapping her or something," he found himself saying.

Daphne shot him a look before she laughed. "I'm going to let that one slide, Potter, because we've only just become friends, but don't get used to it."

Harry grinned at her, allowing himself to relax. If she or anyone else were going to try anything; they probably would have done it already.

"Now," Daphne said, making a point of turning in her chair to face him. "What are we going to do about your little predicament?"

"What predicament?"

"Potter, even if you won't say it, I know you're in love with Granger. I know. Stop playing dumb. I know. Trust me, I bloody well know."

Harry said nothing.

"Of course, you'll want to nip this stupid romance in the bud before it gets out of hand..."

"I am not going to do anything to sabotage their relationship," he said strongly, shaking his head. He'd given it a lot of thought. In fact, he'd come up with up to a hundred different ways to kill Corner, and not all of them even required the use of magic. "If she wants to be with Corner then she's going to be with Corner."

"But what about you?"

"Hermione needs whatever is going to help her through her recovery," he said. "If it's Corner, who am I to question it? I promised her I wouldn't get in the way if this ever happened."

"Potter, what are you going to do if she actually falls in love with that prick?"

"What could I do, really? I won't be the one to ruin her happiness, Greengrass."

"Even if her happiness is with you?"

Harry didn't respond.

"Fine. No sabotage. You're no fun. Maybe that's why Granger overlooks you."

That sentence stung and Harry had to look away, his insides twisting painfully. He was being overlooked by the one person who always claimed to see him. He might have been the famous Harry Potter who everyone talked about but there was always just one person who always _saw_ him. And now that she wasn't anymore, he was afraid he was going to start to disappear.

Daphne seemed to sense she had gone too far and wasn't sure how to take it back. Before she knew what she was doing, she placed her hand over his on the table and gave a gentle squeeze. "Sorry. Slytherins don't have filters."

Harry stared at their hands, unsure what to feel about being touched by Daphne Greengrass in such a way. It wasn't the same as being touched by Hermione but it was still rather comforting. Even pleasant.

"Maybe we can just work on your essay for now," Harry suggested. "Not that I think I'd be very useful. Potions hasn't really been my strongest subject."

Daphne didn't release his hand. "That's because of Professor Snape, isn't it?"

Harry didn't want to agree. There were many things about Snape that only he knew. "Or I'm just really terrible at Potions."

"I heard you made Polyjuice Potion in second year?"

He let out a light laugh. "Me? Merlin no! That was Hermione. I probably would have killed us all if it were me."

"So you did use Polyjuice Potion? What for?"

"To determine if Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin," he answered easily, suddenly not worried if she knew. It suddenly seemed so unimportant in the great scheme that was his life. "Which he wasn't."

"Because you are?"

Harry shrugged. "No. Tom Riddle was."

"Voldemort." She shuddered at some memory. "I suppose there are a lot of things about you that I don't know."

"Probably. Things get twisted down there in the dungeons, don't they?"

Daphne lifted her hand from his and punched him hard in the arm. "Shut up."

He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. "What do you think you know about me?" he found himself asking, leaning forward slightly.

Daphne sat up straight, visibly thinking. "The usual, you know? That you've ridden your supposed celebrity status since you were born and that you lived with Dumbledore which was why he always favored you."

Harry stared at her for a moment before he burst out laughing. "You're kidding, right?"

"No."

Harry stopped laughing. "Right, okay, you're serious. Well, both those things are wrong," he said truthfully. "I didn't even know I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday. I didn't know that I was supposedly famous until I first went to Diagon Alley. I spent my life thinking that my parents died in a car accident."

Daphne's brow crinkled.

"I've lived with Muggles my whole life," he continued to explain. "My mother's sister's family." Harry stopped speaking, trying to stop himself from thinking about all the horrible things they'd done to him. "Umm, they weren't very nice people."

Daphne blinked a few times. "Is that why you always came back to school skinny?"

"What?"

"In September, whenever I saw you, you always looked skinnier," she explained. "They didn't feed you, did they?"

Harry let out a troubled breath. "I didn't think you noticed."

"I never really cared until now," she said, shrugging slightly. "We should go back and kill them."

"Don't tempt me," he said with a smirk.

Daphne ruffled through pieces of parchment until she located her Potions essay that she had started the night before. From what Harry could see, she had a complete introduction and a substantial bit of her body. She handed it to Harry. "I got stuck talking about the amount of Gantley Hair one could use without reaching the potency threshold. I want to elaborate a bit more but I'm not sure which direction to take it."

Harry just nodded as he started to read.

Daphne watched him intently, his green eyes darting left and right from behind his round glasses. She found that she was rather nervous having him read over her work. It was stupid but she couldn't help thinking that he would probably judge her on the words he read.

"I like what you say about the newt's eyeballs," Harry eventually said, handing the parchment back to her. "But I'm a little curious about the decision to cite Scofield."

Daphne let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, her smile dancing on her lips. "You don't like him?"

He shrugged. "I guess I just don't like the font in the book," he said. "I can't get over it enough to gather what he's trying to say."

Daphne laughed at that, shaking her head at his antics. "You're quite strange, Potter."

He shrugged once more. "Go on then, keep writing. You're nowhere near done."

"I'm well aware of that, thank you very much. You're supposed to be helping me!"

Harry placed the essay back onto the table in front of her. "Professor Slughorn mentioned that he was trying to find ways to improve the taste of some of the more vile tasting potions out there. If you can play on those desires, I'm sure he'll be generous with his grading."

Daphne gave him an appreciative look. "Oh, how very Slytherin of you."

And, as Harry chuckled softly, his mind drifted to Luna's words. Is this what she _foresaw_?

Somehow, Harry doubted it.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: I never intended for this update to take so long. I contemplated changing things but I decided against it. I had to take a step back and remember it was my story I was writing. I suppose that it helps that _I_ know how the story is going to go, but I can assure you that things will work themselves out in the end.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

As with anything Harry Potter related, the news of his seemingly endless conversation with Daphne Greengrass spread through the school like a wildfire. Really, Harry found it all so very amusing. He just couldn't fathom how people could care so much about what _he_ did with his time. It wasn't as if he was actually hurting anyone, was it?

"Of course you are," Ginny told him as they walked back to the changing rooms after their third Quidditch practice of the week. "You're literally breaking every girl's heart here, Potter. And of all the people in the world... Daphne Greengrass?"

"Not you too?" he asked, looking at her rather accusingly. "Seriously, Gin, all I did was talk to her. Why is that so scandalous to everyone?"

Ginny stopped walking and used her broom to stop him as well, splaying it across his chest. "Harry, how can you even ask that? She's a Slytherin, and she's spent years being nasty to all of us. To you. And to _Hermione_! Or have you forgotten all about her little posse with Pansy Parkinson and all those other horrid people? Did you forget? Because I haven't!"

Harry stepped back, sensing that she _was_ rather angry. "Okay... But all we did was talk, Ginny. It's not like I'm about to date her or anything."

Ginny didn't seem satisfied but she did get them walking again. "What did the two of you even talk about?"

Harry shrugged. "Just stuff. I don't know."

"But _why_ would you even talk to her, Harry?"

"I don't know," he said again, sighing. "It was just nice to talk to someone who was unafraid to tell me what's up. And you can't even say that I have that with you, or Neville, or even with Luna. I can tell that there are things that you're determined not to tell me and that's something that I definitely don't need right now."

Ginny knew he was right, even if she refused to admit it. They all had pain to work through and, whatever they had to do to recover, they all had to do it.

"She doesn't skirt around me either," Harry added. "She tells it like it is, straight to my face. I find it rather refreshing, to be honest." He sighed. "And it isn't like I've got that with Hermione anymore, now that she's spending all her time with Corner."

Ginny noticed the slight scowl on his face, even though he desperately tried to hide it. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Hmm."

"About Hermione and Michael. You're worried about it. You're just now figuring out that you might lose her," she said sadly. "There are other ways to deal with that, Harry. You don't have to force her attention by hanging out with Greengrass."

"I didn't do it to get attention," Harry said coldly. "It's not like I have anything better to do anyway. I don't want to be in the way with you and Neville and goodness knows I couldn't last spending hours upon hours with Luna when all she's talking about now is Ron... I knew it was a bad idea to let her use my mirror."

Ginny risked a smile, cleverly avoiding his comment about her and Neville. "You could never take it back now, could you?"

Harry returned her smile. "I don't think even Umbridge could. Even her heart wasn't that cold."

Ginny visibly shuddered at the mention of the horrid woman's name. "Look, I know that you can do whatever you want to do, and I wouldn't presume to tell you who to be friends with, but you have to be careful, okay? Things might be different around here now that the War is over, but Greengrass _is_ still a Slytherin. Neutral Party be damned."

"I hear you, Ginny," he said to humour her. "It was probably a one time thing anyway. It's not like she's going to be joining us at the Gryffindor table or anything."

Ginny let out a cackle at that, laughing quite uncontrollably. Harry noted that she sounded scarily like her youngest older brother. "That will be the day!"

If Harry was being totally honest with himself, he could see it happening. Daphne Greengrass was that brand of crazy. Harry didn't tell that to Ginny though as they split up into their respective gender changing rooms. Harry made quick work of his shower and was ready and waiting when Ginny also emerged. Without exchanging words, they started on their way to the Prefects' common room.

"What do you think Hermione is going to go on about during this meeting?" Ginny asked, already rolling her eyes. "Her passion is just so..."

"Inspiring?"

Ginny laughed out loud. "Oh, definitely. That's _exactly_ the word I was looking for."

Harry just smiled. He checked his watch for the time, and immediately picked up speed. "We better hurry. Hermione is going to kill me if I'm late."

"She does tend to stare a person down when she doesn't approve, doesn't she?"

"Makes her so Hermione," he said fondly, allowing his feelings for her to seep into his tone. "Would you ever ask her to change?"

Ginny knew it was a rhetorical question but she still found herself answering. "I wouldn't, no, but I think you should."

"What?"

She shrugged. "You should talk to her, Harry. For all of our sakes, really."

Harry stopped walking to look at her. "What exactly are you trying to say, Ginny?"

"The longer this goes on, the worse it's going to be, Harry. We can all see how much it's hurting you."

Harry swallowed. "And what exactly do you expect me to do?" he asked, not voicing the thing they were so clearly talking about.

Harry Potter was so clearly in love with Hermione Granger.

Harry shook his head. "She's pulling away from me for some reason," he continued. "I must have done something. Or she's figured it out, and she doesn't know how to tell me that she doesn't feel the same way."

"She doesn't know," Ginny said strongly. "How could she? You haven't told her."

"And I can't."

Ginny stomped her foot, clearly frustrated. "And why the hell not? Stop being so damn noble! You already did the self-sacrificing thing during the War. Corner be damned."

"This isn't about Corner," he admitted truthfully. "It's about Hermione."

Ginny stepped towards him, squaring up to him and looking him straight in the eye. "Start making it about _you_ , Harry. Out of every person in this world, _you_ deserve happiness."

Harry felt uncomfortable having her so close so he checked his watch again. If they didn't hurry, Hermione would definitely have choice words for him. "We should go," Harry eventually said.

Ginny sighed. "Yes we should."

They walked in silence until they reached the Prefects' common room at the same time as Daphne and Blaise Zabini. The female Slytherin winked at Harry before she headed inside, making Ginny give him a dubious look. Harry just shrugged.

When the two Gryffindors entered, Hermione immediately stood from her position next to Corner and made her way towards them. Harry tried his best not to react but he couldn't help it. Just seeing them together made his blood boil. He had to turn away from the approaching Hermione and ended up locking eyes with Daphne, who just smiled a knowing smile that actually irritated him.

What about any of this was remotely amusing?

"Harry?" It was Hermione. She put a hand on his arm to get his attention, sending a jolt up his spine. "Are you ready? Did you read through the agenda I gave you?"

Harry took a calming breath before he reached into an inner pocket of his robes and pulled out the folded piece of parchment Hermione had given him two days before. It was a long list and he was fully prepared to sit back and let her take control. "I've got it right here. Quite the meeting you have planned for us. Do you think we'll be done by dinner? I think Ginny would burn this place to the ground if you cut into her eating time."

"Hey," Ginny reprimanded, though she was smiling.

Harry just chuckled as Hermione called everyone to attention. Slowly, the congregated prefects found places to seat themselves, whether on couches, armrests or even the floor. Once they were all settled, Hermione took register before diving right into the meeting.

Harry barely paid attention. It was particularly difficult to concentrate with Hermione practically pressed into his side on the main couch as five sat where only three were designed to fit. Harry did, however, have to pay attention when Hermione brought up possibly swapping patrol partners. It caused a bit of a murmur among the students and Hermione was sure that they would know she was bringing it up because of Michael.

"Are you already sick of Harry?" Ernie asked, laughing.

Hermione wasn't sure why that joke made her so uncomfortable but it did. She most definitely was not _sick_ of Harry.

Pushing on from the group's laughter, she asked if that was okay with everyone, paying close attention to Padma, who was Corner's usual patrol partner. Padma didn't appear too reluctant to spend certain evenings with Harry but there was still something holding her back from readily agreeing. She absently cast a look Zabini's way, which made Daphne speak up.

"Actually," she said, leaning forward in her armchair. "I wouldn't mind patrolling with Potter. So long as we're swapping partners now, I think Patil the second and Zabini here would like a little alone time here and there. That's why you and Corner are so keen to make the swap, isn't it Hermione? Broom cupboards and all?" she asked pointedly, grinning at Harry.

Hermione didn't even know how to respond to that, her cheeks burning. "Umm," she sounded, just able to gather her thoughts. It wasn't as if she could deny them the opportunity to do further swapping of their own. She set the precedent. If the Head Girl could do it, surely the rest could. Maybe she should call the whole thing off... but that would reveal that she had a problem with Daphne spending time with Harry. Did she? Should she? What about Michael? "I, uh, I guess that's okay... As long as everyone is in agreement."

Padma and Zabini were quick to offer their nods. Hermione skipped over Daphne as she turned to look at Harry. "Does this arrangement work for you, Harry?" she asked, wondering if he could see the hopeful look on her face.

For once, Harry wasn't looking at her. If Hermione had asked the question a few weeks ago, Harry was sure his answer would have been no, but things were so different now. This entire thing wouldn't have even been an issue a few weeks ago. It was all Hermione's fault. So, Harry didn't even look at Hermione when he answered the question, determined not to see her reaction. "Sure," he said, looking at Daphne. "It totally works for me."

A certain hush of disbelief fell over the gathered group, which really just made Harry think that the entire school would be in uproar by the morning.

Hmm. Maybe he _was_ trying to get attention.

But whose?

"There you go," Daphne said, clapping her hands together. "That settles it then."

Hermione sat back, leaning against Harry as she did. She was quiet with her thoughts. She definitely didn't foresee _this_ happening and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Somehow, she managed to set those thoughts aside and continue with the meeting. The rest of the agenda went rather quickly from then on, and Hermione dismissed them about a quarter of an hour into dinner time.

Ginny grumbled just to make Harry laugh. As the prefects shuffled out of the common room, Harry knew not to move. He'd felt the tension in her body without her having to say a word. Hermione definitely wasn't comfortable with unleashing Daphne on him and the fact that he wasn't opposed to the idea seemed to be bothering her.

Corner lingered a bit but Hermione told him to go on without her; she had Head Girl things to sort through. Harry appreciated the fact that she'd sent Corner away but he didn't like being demoted to just Head Girl stuff. Why couldn't he be 'best friend stuff?'

Even though the couch was empty, Hermione didn't move too far away from Harry. She did turn to look at him better, their knees touching. "That went well, didn't it?"

Harry nodded once.

"We accomplished a lot."

He nodded again, actively remaining silent. She was going to have to bring it up herself if it was something she wanted to talk about.

"A little more than I expected, actually..." she added quietly. "You and Daphne, huh? Is she your friend now?"

Harry was relieved that _that_ was the question she asked. He didn't want her to think that there was a chance of a romance between he and Daphne. It was comforting knowing that she couldn't see it happening. It was, of course, still disheartening whenever he remembered that she couldn't see herself with him either. Not that Harry thought she had spent any time thinking about it. He hadn't given her much reason to.

"Harry?" she prompted, absently putting her hand on his thigh.

Merlin. Harry's heart started to race. "Umm, yeah, I guess she is. When she isn't calling me Potter, she's calling me _friend_. It's kind of annoying actually."

"You'll be careful, right?" she warned, leaning forward so she could look right into his eyes. "I won't come looking for you and find you in some kind of body bind, will I?"

Harry just managed to smile. "It's going to be fine, Hermione. I think I can handle myself, you know?"

"I know," she said softly, moving to kiss his cheek. "But sometimes you're just too _good_. It worries me."

Harry swallowed, trying to ignore the tingling sensation on his cheek. "Why? Do you want me to be bad?"

"As Head Girl, I definitely wouldn't suggest it." The way she smiled at him, so secretive and devilish, made his blood boil and he fought not to make a sound. "But I think a few Marauders would be mightily disappointed if you didn't at least _try_ to be bad."

"My my my, Hermione Granger," he said coolly, sitting back and giving her a questioning look. "I dare say, I must be dreaming..."

"Oh hush." She shook her head but didn't stop smiling. As if sensing what she wanted to do, she watched as Harry lifted his arm. The next moment, Hermione was leaning against him, his arm wrapped around her. It was so comforting, so familiar. No matter what went on in their lives, Hermione was determined to make sure that they always had _this_.

At least for now. Right? Just where nobody could see.

They could go on living separate lives, as she was sure they both would, so she knew she had to cherish these quiet moments with Harry. She even closed her eyes and used the time to clear her mind. This would always be what she needed. His presence was so calming; he needn't say a word.

Eventually, Harry's stomach growled and the pair broke into laughter. They exchanged one look before they both rose to their feet. Hermione held onto Harry's hand as they walked towards the Great Hall. These were fleeting moments, Harry knew. They would enter the Hall and she would release his hand. Her eyes would seek out Corner and Harry would make his way to the Gryffindor table alone. He would sit down, engage in pleasant conversation that didn't interest him in the slightest, and then he would go to bed, where he would - hopefully - fall asleep... alone.

So Harry walked slowly, trying his best to prolong this moment with her. Without their nighttime patrols, Harry couldn't pinpoint when next he could have a long moment alone with her. Before Hogwarts, they'd spent every second of every day together. Not even he could have predicted such a drastic change. Healer Patrick definitely had his work cut out for him to work through all that was happening between them. Harry secretly wondered what the Healer would say about his changed feelings towards his best friend.

No, not _changed_. Amplified.

Before they entered the Great Hall, Hermione came to a stop and turned to look at Harry. Her eyes were shining and Harry knew she was fighting tears. He couldn't think of a possible reason why, but that wasn't even important. Before he could put his arms around her, she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"I have it," she said softly, blinking a few times. "I'm getting better, Harry."

He just nodded, watching her face intently for any sign of an untruth. He was a little disappointed that she hadn't given him an excuse to wrap her in his arms, but he was happy nonetheless that she _was_ getting better. Even if ha very little to do with him.

"You and I, we're okay, right?" she asked softly.

"Why wouldn't we be?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, and it took every ounce of control Harry had not to bite it for her. He had to clench his fists to stop himself from stepping towards her. "I don't know," she finally said, not noticing Harry's somewhat violent experience. "You would tell me if we weren't okay though, wouldn't you?"

Harry took calming breaths. "We're okay, Hermione," he forced out, the lie sounding desperate.

She looked up at him, eyes still shining. "I suppose, sometimes I just get the feeling that you're, umm, wanting to, uh, let go." The words tasted rather foreign being said out loud. She wasn't even sure _why_ she was saying them.

"I thought that was what you wanted," he felt he had to point out, suddenly getting irritated.

"I know," she admitted sadly, silently berating herself for even touching on this subject. "I just didn't think it would happen so soon."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. In fact, he felt quite annoyed. If anyone was letting go, it was _her_. "We should go in," he said curtly. "I'm sure Corner is waiting for you." Without a single glance back, Harry stalked through the large doors and made a beeline for the Gryffindor table. He sat down beside Luna and immediately started to load his plate up with food.

It didn't take a genius for Ginny, Neville and Luna to realise that something was up with him. He didn't even look at any of them as he began to shovel food into his mouth, barely chewing. It was as if he wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. It also didn't help that he was lost in his thoughts about a certain bushy-haired witch and what unexplainable things she was doing to his control merely by existing.

Thankfully, none of them felt the need to ask him about what was on his mind. They also didn't mention the results of their prefects' meeting, which he greatly appreciated. He was able to see out the rest of his meal in complete silence. Once he was done, he excused himself and headed to the sanctity of his Head Boy's room until it was time to meet Daphne for their patrol.

Normally, he wouldn't be on patrol tonight. According to the schedule, this was Slytherin's seventh year patrol, and he would have to get used to it. Not only did this patrol now not include Hermione; but her patrols wouldn't include him, which meant that they would see even less of each other in the evenings.

Merlin, he didn't think he could hate anyone more than he hated Umbridge, but Corner was coming close.

"You came?" Daphne asked, sounding a bit surprised when she spotted him descending the Grand Staircase.

Harry managed to smile at her. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged.

"You aren't about to lead me into some trap, are you?" he felt he had to ask.

Daphne eyed him. "You keep at it with those remarks, I might just," she muttered. "And no, there's no ambush. I just, well, I wasn't entirely sure you would show. I thought, you know, by offering to pair up with you, Granger would come to her senses and go back on her preposterous idea to swap patrol partners."

"It didn't work."

She sighed, but then perked up slightly. "I caught that. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy it. I mean, she might not have spoken up but she was totally put out. It was kind of funny, to be honest."

"So this is how you intend to help me then? Make her jealous?"

"It's worked before," she said, moving to stand right in front of him. "Why? Do you have a better idea?"

He waited a beat before he shook his head. "I don't, but I don't want to hurt her."

"We're not actually going to date, Potter," she said. "We're just going to hang out, right? I mean, that's what you did with Granger, right? Right now, she's got Corner, and you've got me. And, I should tell you, I'm great for a recovery." She exaggerated a wink and Harry couldn't hold back his grin.

He didn't agree to anything. "Come on, let's start this patrol."

Like the previous time they had a proper conversation, Daphne had boatloads of questions about his life. Harry really could only laugh at the absurdity of the rumours she believed about him. He quite enjoyed being able to clear things up, as if he actually cared what she thought about him. There were things he could laugh about now that the War was over. Most things, however, he looked back at with certain longing and profound sadness.

Daphne cringed when he mentioned that he had been locked in his room the summer before their second year. In no uncertain terms, she vowed to murder the Dursleys in their sleep if he didn't do it. He had to tell her to get in line, but it didn't seem to calm her.

They'd barely made it into third year when their patrol was over. Harry even had to stifle a yawn as they approached the Entrance Hall once more.

"I can walk you to your dorms," Harry offered.

Daphne looked at him kindly. "It's okay, Potter, really. Granger is probably waiting for you."

"Is Malfoy waiting for you?"

She took a shaky breath. "This isn't about me."

"It could be. Two birds, one stone."

"I'm not agreeing to anything, but I'll consider it. Like you, I suppose." She gave him a thoughtful look. "And I reckon you didn't have a _terrible_ night tonight, did you?"

He shook his head. "It was worse."

She laughed out loud, wanting to punch his arm but not feeling anywhere near comfortable with him to do such a thing in a situation such as _this_ one. "Don't lie to yourself, Potter. You enjoyed yourself."

"I'm not telling."

She took a deep breath, signifying the end of their evening together. "I, umm, wanted to say thank you."

"For what?"

"Earlier. For not saying no when Granger asked you if you were okay with being my partner. I may or may not have been scared of your answer. I really didn't want to make a fool of myself."

Harry might have made a joke some other time but she looked oddly vulnerable. "I should be thanking you, Greengrass. As great as Padma is, you're definitely more exciting."

"Don't I know it." The vulnerability was gone, and the confidence was back in full swing, making her just that bit more attractive. "We'll continue this conversation next time, right? I'm quite curious to figure out just where that Firebolt really came from, because I have my doubts about the Prime Minister sending it to you."

Daphne didn't miss the suddenly panicked look on his face.

"Potter, you don't have to tell me things if you don't want to," she offered softly. "I'm not hanging out with you to hear all your secrets. Though, in my opinion, I think it's helping you to talk about them."

"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry. It's just, umm, a lot."

"I'm also not going to tell anyone, if you're worried about that. Whatever you and I do or discuss; it remains between you and me. At least, _I_ won't tell anyone. I'm sure Granger will find a way to get things out of you. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes and you turn to putty, don't you?"

He couldn't stop his grin. "I would do anything and everything for her."

"She's a lucky girl."

"No," he said simply. "I reckon I'm the lucky one."

"My point exactly," she said strongly, her eyes meeting his. "Anyway, I should go. See you next time. Maybe we can work on Charms tomorrow, right in the library, where Granger can see."

"You're an evil little genius, aren't you?"

"I'm a Slytherin, Potter. Don't look so surprised."

Harry stood a while, just watching her leave. Only when she was out of sight did he move, taking a slow stroll towards Gryffindor Tower. He was smiling; he couldn't bring himself to stop. He didn't think it had much to do with Daphne herself, but merely the idea of her. She was a distraction from the emotional turmoil that his life was once again. The thing was, though, that he felt he couldn't really complain. How could he?

Harry Potter had spent years fighting off a depraved Dark Lord; how on earth could he complain about something so juvenile?

He was willing to wait for it. If Hermione was meant to be with him, then he would wait it out. There was no point in forcing her hand before _she_ was ready. He'd have to explain that to Daphne. And Ginny, he guessed. He knew that the youngest Weasley had some idea of what he potentially felt for their mutual friend, and he was surprised everyday that she didn't bring it up more blatantly.

As Daphne predicted, Hermione was waiting for him on the couch in the common room. Her eyes immediately settled on him when he stepped through the portrait hole and the relieved look on her beautiful face nearly floored him. He actually had to clutch at his heart as it... hiccuped. He could spend the rest of his life coming home to that look and it would never be enough.

"You survived," Hermione said, risking a smile. "How was it?"

"Interesting," Harry admitted truthfully, moving to flop down on the couch beside her. "She's a spitfire, that one."

Hermione had questions, and Harry could tell she did, but he wasn't in the mood to talk about it. He just wanted to sit there with her, feeling the heat of the dying fire as well as the heat of her soft body.

"It was weird patrolling without you," he allowed himself to say, opening up his body and inviting her to lean against him.

Hermione didn't even hesitate as she moved to rest her head against his shoulder. She sighed contently when his arm closed around her.

"She definitely isn't as thorough as you are. We didn't even catch a single miscreant."

Hermione chuckled silently. She'd worried herself silly over the way they ended things before dinner. She was just glad that he didn't seem to be mad at her anymore, if he ever was.

"I'm still convinced you've got some kind of rule-breaker radar. You can spot them a mile away."

"It's genuinely a talent I have," Hermione said, her own amusement evident in her tone. "I definitely deserve some kind of medal or something."

"That can be arranged," he said, laughing lightly. "I am Harry Potter after all. May as well put it to good use."

"There are other things you can do," she said, suddenly turning serious.

Harry sighed. "I know, but I'd rather not think about any of that right now. We came to Hogwarts to put off everything else, didn't we? For a normal year. Whatever is to come will come later. I just want to enjoy this time with you."

Hermione tensed for a moment. Change topic. "How different do you think it's going to be when we do finally graduate?"

" _If_ we finally graduate," Harry joked. "And I don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait and find out."

"You're not going anywhere, right?"

Harry didn't mistake the sadness in her voice, the pure fear. How could they be experiencing the exact same fear and believe that it was the other's doing? "Where would I go?"

Hermione didn't respond immediately as she snuggled into his side. "Away from me." It came out as a whisper, but it was enough to squeeze at his heart.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn't be going anywhere, so long as she didn't push him away, but that would only lead to so many more questions. How could he explain to her what he was feeling without actually having to explain what he was feeling?

Damn.

"I have chapter two," Hermione said, her voice heavy.

"Oh yeah? What's it about?"

"Well, it mainly deals with adjusting to Hogwarts life once again, and of course how _boring_ you found our first week back. It's a much shorter chapter, and I kind of focused on how differently I now see things."

"How so?"

"The things that used to annoy me, they don't anymore. And I'm not so afraid of failure anymore. I know that I'm here to stay. The magical world can't get rid of me now."

"I would have fought for you," he said softly.

"I know." She lifted her head to look at him. "Even though you know I can fight my own battles, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, rushing his next words. "I'm deadly afraid of you, I promise."

She laughed lightly, settling back against him. "Never forget that. I know where you sleep."

"You really have to work on your threats. They're weak, Hermione. Weak, I tell you."

She thought about that for a moment. "I suppose my best threats were always reserved for Malfoy," she admitted, chuckling softly. "And Ron."

Harry laughed as well. "I'm sure you threatened to hex him to an inch of his life quite a few times. And you loved mentioning his _bits_. That's enough to make any bloke squirm."

She read the cocky look on his face. "But not you?"

He nodded smugly before steeling himself, realising that he was about to say something that he'd never dreamt of saying before. "It's just that you never did have the guts to go after my bits, did you? Still don't."

Hermione took in a sharp breath, unsure what or how to respond, even if she should. She couldn't quite fathom _what_ he said, because it sounded like he was _flirting_ with her. _Harry_ flirting with _her_. It couldn't be.

Hermione had to admit that there had been instances where they had approached a line that sometimes blurred when two people slept in the same bed, but they always found their way back. They also had _conversations_ that made her feel flushed at times. Like this one. But this was different. Harry had said what he did and known he was doing it.

But why?

Harry allowed the silence to go on until he was supremely uncomfortable. Then, without another thought, he started to laugh. "If you could see your face," he said, trying to translate his fascination into his voice. He hadn't expected her to react so... umm, _thoughtfully_? He could almost see the cogwheels turning in her head.

Hermione laughed nervously. "What did Daphne _do_ to you?"

That only made Harry laugh that bit more, his eyes glinting. He drew Hermione in close and had his bearings enough to place a gentle kiss against her temple.

What _had_ Daphne done to him?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

For days, Harry went through the motions of surviving in a world where Hermione and Michael Corner were an _official_ thing. He'd managed to avoid actually _seeing_ it by shifting tables in the library and sitting with his back towards them in the Great Hall. His masochistic tendencies had quickly run out when the gap between their heads had all but ceased to exist.

Now, he took every precaution he could think of to avoid interaction at all costs.

If she was happy; it was all that mattered. It would always be what mattered the most to him.

But even he had to know he couldn't avoid it forever. It was inevitable. At some point, he would witness the closeness of their relationship, and he was sure it would kill him.

It almost did.

On the night in question, he'd mentioned to Daphne that he needed to stop by the Owlery before their patrol. She agreed to meet him in the Prefects' common room, mainly because waiting in the Entrance Hall sometimes gave her the creeps, which he found particularly hilarious given that they lived in a Castle with _ghosts_.

Harry had letters to send to Ron and to Andromeda. Thaddeus preferred flying at night, Harry quickly came to learn. He didn't know if it was because the owl appreciated the camouflage or if he just didn't like the sun. He was an extremely complex owl.

In Ron's letter, Harry had to begrudgingly confirm that Hermione was, indeed, dating Michael Corner. He was sure the redhead would have a few choice words to say about that, and Harry wasn't looking forward to it. Harry silently cursed Ginny for telling Ron because Harry knew Hermione never would have. She was too concerned with his recovery to worry him with her potential interests in boys.

Clearly, she wasn't worried enough about Harry's own recovery to be concerned enough not to worry _him_.

Okay, that probably wasn't true. He was just sour about it.

In Andromeda's letter, Harry asked after Teddy, as well as how she was holding up after such loss. It was a difficult letter for Harry to write, knowing that there wasn't more he could do to help her other than offer support in whichever way she needed it.

Once Thaddeus took off, Harry made his way to the Prefects' common room. He found that he was actually looking forward to his next conversation with Daphne. They were on to his fifth year now, and he was still telling her about how horrible Umbridge was. Every time he mentioned Malfoy, she always looked a bit embarrassed, though she never commented. Harry wondered how she would react to the the news of the role he played in Dumbledore's death.

He still hadn't decided if he would tell her _that_. The same way he wasn't sure how to broach the subject of Sirius' death. That was a story he imagined he would never ever utter aloud. He hadn't even managed to talk about it with Healer Patrick, and he'd had Hermione sitting next to him at the time. It didn't take him long to figure out that he had a ton of unresolved feelings regarding his godfather.

When Harry reached the common room, he expected to find it empty. It usually was, at a time like this. Most prefects who weren't on patrol usually used the time to spend time in their own common rooms. Really, if he was going to find _anyone_ in the room, it would have to be Luna.

But no... No Luna.

Harry's rude awakening came in the form of finding Hermione and Corner seated on the couch, caught in what appeared to be a heated kiss. Harry froze in the doorway, and they didn't even seem to notice him. Her fingers were in his hair and Harry's immediate thought was that those fingers were supposed to be in _his_ hair. She was supposed to be sitting with _him_ , kissing _him_.

Those were not the right thoughts. They weren't even thoughts that he was allowed to have anymore.

Now that he'd seen it... it changed things.

It changed everything.

Harry stepped out of the room in silence, quietly closing the door. He managed to walk backwards across the corridor and slump to the floor, his back against the hard wall. He felt stricken as the overwhelming realisation washed over him and he struggled to breathe.

Hermione was no longer his.

Had she ever really been?

He started to feel numb, as if someone had just injected him with a paralytic drug. _This_ was worse than dying.

That was the position in which Daphne found him when she finally arrived a few minutes later. His head was bowed and he looked sickly pale. The Slytherin rushed to kneel at his side, thinking the worst.

"What happened?" she asked softly, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Harry didn't respond. All he did was gesture towards the common room door, his movements laboured.

In one quick motion, Daphne was up and across the corridor. Gingerly, she pushed open the door and peered through the opening. Then, having seen what was inside, she actually shuddered, before closing the door, seemingly unnoticed by the two occupants.

"Well, that was... disturbing. Didn't know Granger had it in her."

Harry didn't move.

"Is that what's got you in such a mood?" Daphne asked, as she made her way back towards him. "You do realise that that's what couples do, right? Even non-couples make out."

Harry still said nothing.

"Honestly, they're just kissing, Potter," she said, trying to play it down. "It means nothing if there's no emotional connection, you know. It probably feels like what it would feel like if you and I ever kissed."

That made Harry lift his head.

"Oh, that got your attention, did it?" Daphne asked, laughing. "Typical boy."

Harry shrugged, as he slowly got to his feet, fighting off the pins and needles in his sleepy legs. "I guess I could delude myself into thinking they just _didn't_ if I didn't _see_ it," he admitted.

"Stupid."

"I know."

"Come on. Let's patrol while I think of a way to take your mind off of it."

As they walked, Harry came to appreciate all she was trying to do. In fact, it was almost desperate at times, as she told him stories of her own seven previous years at Hogwarts. He had to admit that some were rather hilarious, and she even went so far as to divulge secrets about Malfoy that had Harry roaring with laughter.

It wasn't enough though. By the time their patrol was over, the viciousness of what he'd witnessed was back, and the heartache started up again. He didn't think he could ever look at Hermione and Corner the same way. He wasn't even sure he could bring himself to _touch_ Hermione ever again.

Okay, that wasn't true. It was sometimes _all_ he wanted to do. it wasn't even about kissing her... not really. He just wanted to hold her hand, on top of the table, for everyone to see.

Daphne sensed that his brooding returned and she let out a defeated sigh. "Maybe you should just tell her," Daphne offered.

"Tell her what?" he asked curiously, forcing himself out of his own thoughts.

"Tell Granger you love her and you want her to stop sucking face with Corner," she said so easily, that Harry was stunned for a moment. "It could go one of two ways, you know?"

Harry shook his head. "I told her I wouldn't interfere."

"You're too noble, Potter. It's disgusting."

They were on their way to the dungeons. Daphne eventually relented and allowed him to accompany her all the way to her dorms when she realised that he wouldn't stop offering.

"So are you," Harry found himself saying.

That made her raise an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Noble. _You_ still haven't told Malfoy how you feel," he pointed out. "Why is that?"

Daphne regarded him for a moment. "I don't think my reasons are the same as yours, if that's what you're getting at."

He raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not _getting at_ anything. I'm merely inquiring why you think it's okay for me to tell Hermione that I'm in love with her, when you can't do the same for Malfoy."

Daphne stopped walking and turned to look at him, her face sporting a wide grin. "Ha!" she exclaimed.

Harry looked confused. "What?"

"You totally just admitted it."

"What?"

"You just said that you were in love with Granger," she hurried. "You _actually_ said it. Out loud. To me, no less. How does it feel?"

Harry replayed the last bit of their conversation and found he was rather winded by his own admission.

Whoa.

He couldn't remember actually saying it aloud before. He'd written it down a couple of times, but saying it for others to hear wasn't as scary as he thought it would be.

"So... how does it feel?" Daphne queried once more.

"I, I," Harry stuttered. "I don't even know."

"I found it liberating the first time," she admitted. "Like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Keeping it a secret takes such a toll."

"Who else knows?" Harry found himself asking.

"My mother, my sister and, well, you." She blushed a little at her own confession and Harry had to smile. "But I'm sure other people have guessed it, as many have with you and Granger."

"Are our lives ever not going to be this complicated?" he asked rhetorically.

Daphne laughed bitterly as they reached the entrance to her dormitory. She suddenly turned serious. "I don't know what the future holds, Harry, but I know that it's a lot less scarier now than it used to be."

Harry looked at her, his eyes shining with some emotion she didn't recognise.

"What?"

He smiled softly. "You called me Harry."

"Huh?" Then she smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

"Me thinks I'm growing on you, Greengrass."

"I'm just enjoying our pity parties too much to let go of you now, _friend_ ," she said, laughing lightly. "Wouldn't know what I would do without you."

Harry sobered at her words. "What?"

Daphne also grew serious. "I said that out loud, didn't I?" At his baffled expression, she sighed. "I really need to stop doing that."

"Daphne?" he asked quietly.

"What?" she feigned innocence. "You're my friend now, Potter. An escape, a welcome distraction. I kind of thought I was doing that for you before but I've just now come to realise that you're doing the same for me as well."

"Oh."

"Is this the point where we totally make out now?"

Harry laughed in surprise. "That's twice you've brought up kissing me this night alone," he pointed out. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

She raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Does the topic make you uncomfortable?"

"Given what I just witnessed; yes, yes it does."

Daphne gave him a sympathetic smile. "Well, Granger is getting her practice in; don't you think you should as well?"

That piqued Harry's interest. "Just what are you suggesting, Greengrass?"

"If you don't already know, then you're definitely way too young, Harry Potter." She laughed lightly. Nay, it was more of a giggle. "Just think about it." Then, with one swish of her hair and a quick turn, she disappeared through the dungeon doors, leaving Harry to think over her _proposition_.

It was a proposition, right? He couldn't be sure. Why did girls have to make things so difficult?

When he got back to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione wasn't waiting for him. He wasn't surprised. She'd stopped waiting for him right around the same time he stopped waiting for her when her Arithmancy class let out. Really, Harry just couldn't handle watching her walk out of the classroom with Corner, spot him, and then hesitate, as if she were unsure what to do, anymore. He wasn't strong enough to come second to her as often as he now did.

It was selfish, he knew, and he guessed that it was hurting them both, but they wouldn't talk about it. He was just too used to coming first with her. Hell, she'd chosen to stay with him during the Hunt when she could have so easily gone with Ron.

Now, apparently, their late night conversations were turning into rare occurrences. They seemed to have them only when neither of them had a patrol, and they were difficult for Harry. Having her sit right up against him, talking animatedly about all sorts of things, was sometimes torturous.

How could he tell her now? Did he even think it was something he would manage to say anymore?

What surprised him the most, though, was that she started to smell less and less like Hermione. After tonight, he suddenly knew why. His breath quickened once more, merely at the painful memory. He needed Christmas to get here so their stupid project could be over and... he didn't even know what would happen then.

At this point, he just couldn't bring himself to care all that much. What did it matter anyway? She was making it pretty clear that she didn't need him anymore.

Which was always what she intended. How could he begrudge her that?

Harry's mood left much to be desired and he didn't want to subject poor Neville to how foul it was, so he headed to the Head Boy's room. It felt incredibly empty, even though it was filled with his things. Harry quietly closed the door behind him and made his way towards his bed. It looked terribly inviting, and yet it was the one place that held so many painful dreams.

He was sure that, if he were to fall asleep, he would have nightmares layered in nightmares. Based on his thoughts already, it was unavoidable. Maybe if he didn't actually go to sleep...

These were things he was supposed to be able to talk to Hermione about. How had it all gone so wrong? Where was she? Didn't she realise how much he needed her?

 _Wanted_ her.

Desperately.

Did he even have the right to tell her such a thing anymore?

* * *

Harry didn't spend too much time thinking about Daphne's potential proposition. He had more important things to think about, like the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. This year, Harry had greater incentive. In fact, he couldn't think of anything more satisfying than wiping the smug smile off of Corner's idiot face.

Ginny seemed to share his sentiment, and their attitude started to seep into the rest of the team.

Harry worked them hard. They practiced every single day, and Harry was usually exhausted by the time he crawled into bed. He barely had the energy to kick and scream through his nightmares and he wasn't able to determine if that was a good or bad thing. It was something he would have to mention to Hermione.

Harry had the distinct feeling she was pulling away for some reason, and it had him feeling anxious every second of every day. He just couldn't relax. Was it something he'd done?

The one good thing about the match was that Ron and George were coming to watch it. Harry found that he was quite eager to show off their new Keeper, even if he was still a bit uncomfortable around her. Even so, he was sure that Ron would approve. It would be a good outing for his red-haired friends, and maybe Hermione would have enough presence of mind to even spend some time with their mutual friend.

It was really difficult for Harry not to be anything but sour whenever it came to Hermione. He hated that he felt this way, but he sometimes couldn't help it. It was simple to blame her for all he was feeling, but he had to accept some of the blame. He'd waited too long trying to figure out his own feelings, hadn't he?

He was too late.

Waiting was difficult.

"I hate him. I absolutely hate him!"

Harry turned to see Ginny drop onto the couch opposite the fire in the Gryffindor common room, sounding particularly exasperated. "Who do you hate now?" he asked, bravely risking her wrath.

She glared at him. "I'll have you know that I was doing a little recon, to find out how our mutual friend who is always AWOL was doing, and of course I ran into the idiot, Michael Corner."

Harry frowned, suddenly not sure if he wanted to hear whatever Ginny was about to say.

"The guy is convinced that Ravenclaw can beat us this weekend. I mean, seriously, beat _us?_ Can you believe it? He's completely delusional."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that, or if he should.

"It's the whole reason we broke up in the first place, you know?" Ginny added, sitting up so she could properly look at Harry as he sat at one of the tables and tried to work. "He couldn't stand the thought of losing to us... And it isn't even as if he plays on their team. Ah, I just want to wring his neck.

"And then he starting going on about you and how you wouldn't be able to catch the Snitch if it hit you in the face. I totally just lost it. We have to beat them."

"We'll beat them," Harry said.

From his tone, Ginny grew quiet. He was merely stating a fact. There wasn't even a quiver in his voice, and she dared not question him. Gryffindor would beat Ravenclaw, and Harry Potter would catch that Snitch or die trying.

Oliver Wood would be proud.

On the morning of match-day, Hermione sat with them at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Harry wasn't the only one who found it all a little strange but he was too wired to spend too much time thinking about it. It wasn't even as if she was saying anything. She was just there.

When Ginny was ready to go, she looked at Harry, who merely nodded. He stood up almost immediately, quickly downing the remainder of his pumpkin juice. Before he took off, he looked at Neville. "You'll find Ron and George and sit with them in the stands, yeah?"

Neville nodded. "We'll be the ones screaming the loudest."

Ginny bent to kiss Neville's cheek, which made the Gryffindor wizard turn beet red, and Harry could only laugh, and then choke when Hermione took hold of his wrist. She pulled him down to her level and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. "Good luck today, Harry," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

The entire thing felt melancholy, as if she was sad about something, but he was too focused on the match to worry about it now. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, just managing to ignore the warmth that was now filling his body.

Hermione and her kisses. Damn.

Several people wished them good luck as he and Ginny made their way out of the Great Hall towards the Quidditch pitch, but it was one voice that made Harry stop and do a double take.

"Looking sharp, Potter!"

Daphne Greengrass was smirking at him from her position at the Slytherin table. Then she winked, completely ignoring the glares her own house was giving her.

Harry just shook his head. "You're crazy," he shouted back, and then Ginny was pulling him along. He was sure that the redhead had things to say but now was not the time. They had to be focused on the battle that was to come.

Michael Corner and his ridiculous Ravenclaws were going to feel the Weasley wrath.

All in all, it turned into quite a pitiful match. To say it was a landslide would be a gross understatement. It was beyond a whitewash. Gryffindor smashed Ravenclaw 430-10, and Harry didn't even feel a little bit bad for them. He was sure it was petty to take out his feelings on an entire House but he didn't quite care. Their one goal was merely conciliation, by the end of it, really.

Harry had waited as long as he could to catch the Snitch, to allow Ginny and the other Chasers the chance to work on some of the plays they worked on during practice. As commentator, Luna had even gone so far as to call it an exhibition match. Even Harry felt that burn.

"That was bloody fantastic!" Ron exclaimed, the excitement getting the better of him. He practically ran at his best friend and sister when they assembled on the ground of the Quidditch pitch after the final whistle was blown. Ron practically tackled Harry and Ginny to the ground as he hugged them both. "That was amazing!"

Harry tried to get out of Ron's firm hold, claiming that he couldn't breathe. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, rather breathlessly. "Man, is it good to see you!"

"I missed you too, mate!" Ron buried him in another hug.

George put a hand on his brother's back. "Easy there, Ron, let the Champion go."

Harry gave George an appreciative look as Ron released him. "I take it you two enjoyed the match?"

"Ron's face literally matches his hair, Harry. I think he definitely enjoyed it," Ginny said, grinning at her brother.

Harry looked past Ron and George, feeling his heart slowly sinking. "Where are Neville and Hermione?" he asked softly.

George's eyes settled on Harry and the younger wizard didn't miss the sympathy. What had happened? "They should be along shortly. I'm sure they'll meet us in the common room."

Harry couldn't help but feel anxious. "What happened?" he had to ask, his tone turning cold but filling with worry.

Before George could respond, Ginny put a hand on Harry's arm, making him turn to look at her. "There they are."

Harry's eyes searched the crowd for her beautiful face and he barely had time to register his relief before his ever-present worry kicked in. Even he didn't have to be a Hermione-genius to see that she had been crying.

But why? What had happened?

Suddenly, every single other person on that pitch faded into the background, and all he saw was Hermione. He absently passed someone his broom and started towards his best friend, forcing himself not to run. He barely acknowledged Neville standing beside her as he wrapped her in his arms, not even bothered to ask her what had brought on the tears. It didn't even matter.

Later, Neville would tell him that it had something to do with that last Bludger that knocked him off his broom, almost sending him down to the hard ground, if he hadn't smartly held on. Harry could only imagine what she felt, watching him struggle to pull himself back up onto his broom. He'd almost died in one too many Quidditch matches, and she'd always just had to watch.

Truthfully, Harry was just relieved that the reason she was crying didn't involve Corner. He didn't want to have excess ill-feeling towards the Ravenclaw on such a great day. Because it was great! He had his two best friends in the same place for the first time since August, and he would be hard-pressed to let Michael Corner ruin it.

With George and Ron came humour by the boatload and the Gryffindor Tower was alive with endless stories and roaring laughter. For a while, Harry was able to forget what he'd been feeling for the past few weeks and just enjoy the company of his friends. It also helped that Hermione was sitting right next to him, impossibly present in the conversation and giving them all her full attention.

Harry almost couldn't believe it.

There was something inherently disarming about being the sole focus of Hermione Granger's full attention. Harry absolutely loved it.

Ron was animatedly retelling the entire Quidditch match to anyone who would listen. It was interesting for the actual players to hear how it looked for a spectator, and Ron seemed surprised by their interest. Not too long ago, he had also been on the pitch.

At some point in the evening, Harry and Hermione pulled George aside to find out how the Weasleys were _really_ coping. George didn't even appear surprised by their approach. Somehow, the two of them could just _see_ things... that didn't seem to involve themselves.

"As you can probably tell, he's very in to Quidditch right now. More so than he has ever been," George said, a slight smile on his face. "He's going through phases where he latches onto something; kind of obsessing over it. Last week was an American Muggle television show. _Friends_ , I think it's called. Anyway, Healer Patrick mentioned something about replacing his alcohol addiction with other things, which is both healthier and not healthy at the same time."

Hermione just nodded, glancing back at Ron.

"Was bringing him here a good idea?" Harry found himself asking, hoping desperately for a positive response.

"Healer Patrick seemed to think so," George assured him. "He needed to see you guys. _Both_ of you."

Hermione hung her head in shame, deftly shifting closer to Harry as they stood by a large window of the common room.

"And, of course, he wanted to see Luna," George added. "He talks about her all the time, you know; I swear my ears bleed."

Harry let out a light chuckle. "And how are you, George? How are your parents?"

George took a breath. "Mum is finding it difficult. She just isn't her usual self, you know? But I can tell she's trying. Maybe she just wants the whole family back home again."

Harry nodded his understanding. "And you?" he prompted.

George laughed nervously. "I keep myself busy. The shop is booming. I suppose people really need some laughter in their lives now, more than anything."

A certain chill passed over the three of them and Hermione even shivered despite her close proximity to the heat of Harry's body. He was still in his Quidditch robes, enjoying himself too much to bother with changing. Hermione suspected that if he were to notice how possessively all the girls were looking at him; he would immediately wrap himself up in a cloak. Especially that Emily Rowan.

"Are you still looking at expanding to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked George, determined to talk business.

George's face broke into a smile. "Now that you mention it..."

Hermione silently slipped out of the conversation and made her way back to the couch where she sat down next to Ginny. It was easy enough for her to pick up the thread of conversation. Ron was retelling the moment that Harry caught the Snitch. Nobody could mistake the pride they were so clearly hearing in his tone.

Ginny took hold of Hermione's hand, forcing her to turn her head. "Are you okay?" Ginny asked softly. "After, umm, you know..." She was referring to the crying, of course.

Hermione's eyes flickered to Harry before she looked at Ginny again. Before she opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, Ginny spoke once more.

"And don't even think of lying," she said firmly. "I'll know."

Hermione sighed. "You just won your first Quidditch match of the season, Gin. I don't want to bore you with my troubles."

"It's about Michael then, isn't it?"

Hermione managed a smile, trying desperately to brush it off.

"You two fought over today's match, didn't you? I bet he even wanted you to sit with him, didn't he? The idiot. And he probably talked such smack about Harry as well?" When Hermione didn't respond, Ginny shook her head. "Typical. I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."

Hermione had no response to that, her gaze dropping, which was enough for Ginny.

"You didn't," she concluded sadly. "Is that why you're here right now? Why you sat with us this morning? Do you feel guilty for not defending him?" The accusations were paramount and Ginny practically snatched her hand back. "Because that's what _you_ do, Hermione. No matter what, you stand by Harry."

Ginny spent a moment gathering her own thoughts, trying to keep a check of her anger. Why wasn't Hermione saying anything?

When Ginny spoke again, it came out sounding like a hiss. "Do you know what he would feel if he knew?" Ginny asked her pointedly. "That the only reason you're even here is because you feel _guilty_ over not having his back against your _boyfriend_. He'd be crushed, Hermione." Ginny sneaked a look at Harry, who was still discussing something important with her older brother. "I mean, look at him, Hermione. He looks so happy. Even you aren't blind enough to not notice that it has nothing to do with the win today."

"Ginny..."

"No," she snapped, and several people looked their way. Ginny managed to smile their interest away, but her eyes were cold when she looked at Hermione once more. "He's happy because you're here. You're actually _here_ , with us. But you're not even here for him. You're here for _yourself_ , and that means _nothing_. He's your _best friend_ and you're just pushing him away... and for what? For Michael?" No response. "You should just go to him then. Seriously. Just go. Leave Harry to celebrate with people who _want_ to be here."

Hermione was so surprised, she could barely form a thought. "Ginny, of course I want to be here," she said, miraculously finding her voice.

Ginny made a point of turning away from Hermione, blatantly refusing to continue with the conversation. She'd said all she needed to say, and then some.

Hermione just watched as the redhead pasted on a smile and jumped into another conversation. It was almost uncanny how she could go from berating Hermione to cooing over some story Demelza was retelling about her latest visit to Hogsmeade.

Hermione felt rather winded following the icy turn of events. Was her presence _that_ infrequent? Surely Harry's happiness wasn't solely based on when she was around. There were always people around him. He always seemed to be smiling.

And Ron was here. And George. It wasn't on her. Ginny was wrong.

Hermione watched Harry when he wasn't looking. He seemed to be actively avoiding looking at her sometimes, which made it a lot easier for her.

She knew him well enough to know that there was something he wasn't telling her. It started a while back and she guessed _that_ was why he had been acting so strange for those few days. She knew Harry's facial expressions better than anyone. He wanted to tell her whatever it was, she could tell; but something was stopping him.

She supposed it had something to do with how he thought she would react to whatever was on his mind. Hermione would never ask. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ to know, especially if it had anything to do with Daphne Greengrass. The truth was, she was sure, any news of that nature would surely break her.

It just never occurred to her that she was already breaking him.

Harry's eyes drifted away from George's face when Hermione stood up. He watched her walk around the couch, place a kiss on top of Ron's head and then make her way towards the portrait hole. She hesitated before she stepped through, her eyes seeking his. She didn't seem surprised to find him already looking at her, silently asking questions.

Hermione gave him a tight smile. It was almost a pained one. Her eyes looked sad, and Harry couldn't think of a reason as to why. Wasn't she happy here? Why did she want to go?

Harry was sure that his eyes begged her to stay... with him. He didn't want her to go. She _had_ to stay.

Hermione gave a slight shake of her head before she stepped through the portrait hole.

To George, the entire thing lasted only a few seconds. To anyone who asked, he would tell them that the Harry that turned back to him was older, darker, wearier. The light was gone from his green eyes and the previously smiling boy was replaced with a hardened man.

"You were saying," Harry prompted, and George wondered if that new look in Harry's eye would ever stop haunting him.

It wasn't until Monday morning that Harry, however temporarily, accepted that Hermione had _chosen_ to go to Corner the previous night. He'd spent the night fighting off nightmares where she continually picked the Ravenclaw over him, even as he fought for his life. His mind could be cruel sometimes.

Hermione did not sit with them at breakfast. In fact, she didn't even show up to the Great Hall, and Harry was only vaguely aware of the glare Harry received from Ginny when he asked after Hermione.

Harry, though, was relieved to see that she was in Transfiguration, but it was quickly replaced by hurt confusion to find that she wasn't sitting at their usual table right in front. Even though she did sit with Corner in some lessons, she had never done it in Transfiguration, Charms or DADA.

But this?

Harry made a point of looking at Hermione but she couldn't meet his eyes. His anger flared, and so did his magic. He was sure that those around him could feel it and he fought for control as he settled into his usual seat and took long, calming breaths. How could things be spiraling so out of control like this?

Would Hermione ever come back?

Bloody Harry and his stupid nobility!

Harry spent the entire lesson in a _mood_. Nobody even attempted to talk to him. Not even Professor Adams, even though he was the student sitting right in front of her as she went on and on about extending the lives of transfigured objects.

Really, every time Hermione answered a question in class, Harry seemed to cringe. The lesson couldn't end quickly enough.

Because Harry made a decision and he needed to act on it. He didn't even care that it was a decision made in blatant retaliation to Hermione putting even more space between them.

When the bell signaling the end of the lesson sounded, Harry jumped to his feet, his eyes already seeking her out. She was, of course, sitting in the back, and she seemed to look his way as if she sensed his eyes on her. She even smiled.

He did too.

She let out a light laugh and shook her head before she slung her book bag over her shoulder and then followed the other students out of the classroom. Harry immediately started after her, eager to catch her before he had to face the real possibility that he would again be sitting alone, this time in Charms.

Harry had to weave through several students to reach her briskly walking form. Thank his lucky stars she was alone.

He grabbed hold of her wrist to stop her.

Daphne Greengrass twirled to look at him, ready with a retort, but the look on his face stopped her. There was something dark in his eyes. They were almost cold, calculating, unfeeling.

"Harry?" Her voice was barely audible.

In a moment, the darkness was gone. A light smirk replaced the cloud over his handsome features. "Just how serious were you about that proposition?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Okay, first things first," Daphne said, wagging her finger in front of Harry's face. "And this is _very_ serious, Harry Potter. Nobody, I repeat, _nobody_ can _ever_ know about this. Not Draco. Not Granger. Do I make myself clear? Nobody."

Harry just nodded, unable to speak. She looked deadly.

"Promise me, Potter."

"I promise."

She let out a breath. "Okay." She paced a bit, crossing the corridor several times. "Secondly, umm, if you or I ever start to feel anything, and I mean _anything_ ; we stop. No questions asked. Am I clear?"

He nodded once more.

"Speak," she barked.

"I promise."

"Okay." She paced some more. "Thirdly, umm, we're not in any kind of relationship. We're just helping each other with a physical distraction. That's it. We're not allowed to get jealous or make comments in front of people, okay?"

Harry knew the drill now. "I promise."

"Okay."

Harry was leaning against the wall in the dark corridor, waiting for her to tell him more of the rules. When none came, he stood up straight and looked at her. "You know, you're going on and on like this when we don't even know if I'll _like_ kissing you."

She laughed. "Only _you_ could say that with a straight face, Harry."

"Why? Are you claiming to be a good kisser?"

"No claims necessary," she said smugly, starting to walk towards him. "I have references."

"Let's see them then."

Daphne came to a stop right in front of him, her eyes meeting his. "You know, if you just stopped talking for a minute, you could decide for yourself." She placed a hand on his chest. "Just a tester," she said softly. "It might be too weird."

Harry took a deep breath. This was it. "You're not allowed to laugh," he said. "I doubt I'll be very good."

"Which is why you need the practice."

Harry shrugged once, and then they kissed, each of them leaning in until only their lips touched. It was surprising for Harry. He'd spent weeks imagining what it would be like to kiss Hermione, and this wasn't it. He didn't feel his stomach flutter and he didn't feel the need to smile. His body didn't heat up immediately and his heart didn't start thumping in his head. He wasn't even nervous.

This was not an emotional kiss.

Daphne agreed when she pulled away. "It was a little weird," she admitted. "I was thinking about Draco the whole time."

Harry didn't mention that he'd thought of Hermione.

"I reckon we could do this," she said, a hint of finality in her tone. "But there's one more thing."

"What?"

"If, at some point, either of us decides to tell Draco or Granger about our feelings, the other one has to as well."

Harry thought he hid his panic well. "That's easy for you to say," he argued. "Malfoy doesn't have a girlfriend. You could tell him right now, if you wanted."

"I couldn't, and you know that," she shot back. "You've _seen_ him. I've _talked_ to him, Harry. Trust me when I tell you he isn't ready for me."

He conceded the point. "I don't think anyone could ever be ready for _you_ ," he said teasingly, realising that he had said the wrong thing.

She ignored his remark. "Do we have a deal?"

He sighed. He would have to come up with a better way to get out of this at a later time. "Fine."

Her face broke out into a smile. "Okay, let's finish up with this patrol and then we can, umm... We should probably come up with some kind of codename for the whole kissing thing. Don't want Draco or Granger getting suspicious."

"Well, it has to be something that they both aren't interested in," Harry surmised as they started to walk. "Which shouldn't be too hard, should it? Malfoy isn't interested in anything that isn't dark and twisted. And yes, that includes you."

She took it as a compliment. "Why, thank you."

He laughed lightly, as they rounded a corner. "I'd say something like 'tutoring' but I doubt Hermione would believe I would willingly seek out help from anyone other than her."

"Well, it isn't as if you have a choice now. Granger is acting prissy."

Harry wasn't even bothered to defend her right now. She _was_ acting prissy. Whatever that meant.

"Maybe you should just talk to her," Daphne offered. "I don't mean _tell her_ ," she added at the sight of Harry's alarmed expression. "Just _talk_ to her. You two still do that, don't you?"

"I guess."

"Then do that. Just tell her that you don't appreciate the way things are going, now that she's got a guy. Don't make it a big deal. Just deftly tell her that you are still her best friend and that means that she doesn't just get to cast you aside like the two of you didn't bloody bring down the darkest wizard together. Okay?"

"I guess."

"It's either you do it, or I will, Potter."

That had Harry immediately agreeing. If Daphne went anywhere near Hermione, he was sure the latter would never speak to him again. Or she'd end up hexed, Harry couldn't know. The Slytherin was volatile. Hermione definitely wouldn't appreciate _that_.

"So this codename then," Daphne continued. "It's got to be something good."

"Hmm, what about 'visiting the kitchens?'" he offered.

She glanced at him. "That could work. For a while, I guess. I think they'll get suspicious if we don't put on extra weight."

"I play Quidditch. What's your excuse?"

She laughed. "I'm sure I'll think of something. Aren't you the one who calls me an 'evil little genius?'"

He just smiled at her as they continued on their way through the corridors. He'd never thought that he could find silence with Daphne anything other than unpleasant. He felt rather grounded.

Given everything that was happening with Hermione, and all the confusion there; he quite liked that Daphne made things as uncomplicated for him as she possibly could.

Girls.

* * *

Harry probably wouldn't say that DADA was his favourite subject anymore. Sure, he was proficient enough and he probably enjoyed it, but Harry quite preferred Ancient Runes. _That_ subject fascinated him.

DADA was interesting in the fact that Professor Puth was determined to teach them new things whenever he could. Harry's spellwork was already top notch, as was Hermione's, and Professor Puth actively picked either of them to showcase the new things he was teaching.

Which was why, on the December day in question, Harry wasn't alarmed by the fact that Professor Puth called him to the front of the classroom. After all they'd already learned, Harry was quite keen to try some of them out.

"Right, class, settle down," Professor Puth said, calling his students to attention. He waited as they all settled down, leaving Harry standing at the front of the class with him.

Harry quite enjoyed the demonstrations. Practical work would always trump theoretical. It wasn't even a contest. And plus, he was so much better at the practical side. Everyone knew that.

"Good morning," Puth said. "We've got a treat for you today. Mr Potter, if you would."

Harry smiled. "Professor."

"What we're going to do in this lesson is hear our Hero here tell us exactly how it is that he defeated Voldemort," Puth said, his eyes glinting slightly.

Harry just blinked his surprise.

"Don't we all want to hear how he did it?" he asked the class, but nobody responded to the clearly rhetorical question. He looked directly at Harry. "Tell us then, Mr Potter, how did you fight in that Final Battle? I want to know every spell you used, every provision you took to make sure that you survived while so many others died. Better yet, tell me, knowing all the spells you know now, from this class, how you could have done better."

Harry paled instantly. "What?"

The class was completely silent, even feathers landing on tabletops would have been heard.

Professor Puth kept his eyes on Harry. "I think I made myself pretty clear, Mr Potter. Go through the Final Battle as you did but, instead of those meagre spells you used, use the ones you know now, that you've now learned in this class, and let's see how many lives you could have saved."

Harry just stared blankly at his Professor. "Sir?"

"Go on," Puth said, using a hand to gesture for Harry to continue. "There was so much more you could have done, and now we'll know."

Harry sputtered. "More?" he whispered.

"Yes, Mr Potter, _more_. If you'd paid more attention in class, or if you'd studied up further; you could have ended the War a lot earlier, with a lot less casualties... Am I right?" He asked the class this question but everyone was a little too stunned to respond. Was _this_ really happening?

As expected, Harry's mind took on a life of its own, bombarding him with flashback after painful flashback. "But," he whispered, tears springing to his eyes. He could barely see. "I did... I, I did all I could."

"And clearly it wasn't enough," Puth said, his eyes rounding on Harry. "Now go through it again and tell us how you could have done it better; how, with just a bit more effort, you could have fulfilled the Prophecy before so many people lost their lives!"

Hermione and Daphne stood up at the same time, each of them sporting determined and seething looks respectively.

"That's enough!" Hermione barked, her tone a mixture between supreme loathing and trepidation. She didn't even realise she was gripping her wand until she stepped out from behind her table. "Leave him alone," she added as she moved to the front of the class.

Harry was trembling when she reached him. Cautiously, she slipped an arm around his waist, merely letting him know that she was there.

Then her attention settled on their Professor. If she could even still consider him as a professor. "You don't get to talk to him that way, do you hear me?" she said, her tone bitter and severe. "You don't get to dish out ways _you_ could have won our War better! You don't get to make us feel bad for surviving the best way we could! If it weren't for Harry, who knows where we would all be? So, if you so much as mention what he could or could not have done differently, I swear to Merlin, that you'll never work another day in your life."

She sounded primal, like a fierce protector.

"Don't talk to him. Don't so much as look at him. You're a pitiful man, you, and don't think that Professor McGonagall won't be hearing about this. Just who do you think you are? I'd like to see you defeat the Darkest wizard of all time at the age of seventeen, with just your two best friends. I'd love to see how you'd fare out there in the wilderness, or even in here, surrounded by Death Eaters, constantly on the move, fearful of Snatchers and thinking that every unknown sound is the end! How would you feel knowing that your next move could be your last?"

She was mad now, and her magic was threatening to erupt.

"So no. You don't get to sprout all your nasty opinions about the way _we_ won the War. Where were _you_ , huh? We fought for _years_. Endlessly. It sometimes feels like we're still fighting. Especially if we have to deal with people like you! Harry sacrificed himself for all of us, for all of you. He did that. Without asking for anything in return! He walked to his death to save all your lives! He's a hero, and this is no way to treat him! He's fought every day for a decent life, and, now, with your wicked words, you want to take it all away. You should be ashamed of yourself; prying on an eighteen-year-old for your own curious satisfaction!"

Hermione wasn't sure she was finished but she was made aware of the fact that Harry's trembling hadn't stopped. A quick look his way made the decision for her. Without a word more, she led him out of the classroom, hesitating only once as she locked eyes with Daphne.

In their silence, Hermione conveyed something very important.

 _I'll take care of this._

And then she and Harry were going again. She didn't know where she was taking him at first, but they were just walking. Every time she looked at him, her heart broke a little more. His eyes were unseeing. She knew he was trapped in his flashbacks and she wasn't sure what to do to snap him out of them. What _could_ she do?

"Harry?" she said, steering him around a corner and coming to a stop. "Harry, look at me."

Slowly, his gaze turned towards her, but his eyes remained unseeing.

She took his head in her hands, her thumbs rubbing circles on his temples. "You're okay," she whispered soothingly. "You're okay, Harry. I promise, you're okay."

But he wasn't, and they both knew it.

She dropped her hands down and took hold of both of his, squeezing his fingers tightly, trying to get him to feel. Just from the look in his eyes, she felt the full force of her own guilt.

They'd allowed themselves to get so caught up in so many distractions that they'd even forgotten that they needed to recover.

"Harry?" she tried again.

He blinked. "Hermione," he croaked. His voice was strangled, coming from deep in his throat.

She ran her hand up his right arm. "Hi."

"Did I do that?" he asked quietly. "Did I kill them all?"

"No!" she said quickly. "Harry, no," she said, squeezing his upper arm. "Don't you ever think that!"

"How can I not?" he asked, his voice still barely audible. "If I'd paid more attention in class, maybe I could have done better. If I'd just listened to you some more... I could have killed him before so many people died."

She hated that he was so calm, so reserved and resigned. She'd feel better if he was yelling; that way she would know that he was feeling the emotions. "Stop it," she said. "You're always telling me that I'm the brightest witch of our generation, and even I couldn't have accomplished half the things you did."

Harry's breath caught at that.

"I'm right," she said, and it was something that the Hermione he knew all too well would say. "You are a great wizard, Harry," she said. "And what you did, for all of us, is great. Please, please don't let one man and his horribly misguided opinions change the way you see yourself."

He swallowed. "But I don't even know how I see myself," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing; I don't know who I am." It was the truth. He didn't know who he was. It was like he didn't exist without her.

Hermione squeezed his hands again.

"How do _you_ see me, Hermione?" he asked, his green eyes meeting hers.

She looked at him then, allowing herself to see him for the first time in what felt like a very long time. It was a privilege to be able to look at him like this; to be able to study him so closely. He looked tired, defeated, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked vulnerable, really, standing there, asking her a question he couldn't have asked her _before_. Before all of _this_.

"I need to know," he whispered, sounding desperate.

Hermione was hesitant to say anything.

"Hermione?"

She swallowed. "Can I just...?"

He frowned.

She took a step towards him and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, absently breathing him in. She felt him stiffen for a moment, before he returned her hug. It felt so good to be held by him, even if it was for a moment. The familiarity of it threatened to overwhelm her.

"I miss you," he whispered into her hair.

Hermione did not let him go, more out of fear that she would start crying. She needed this. She needed Harry. But she couldn't. She shouldn't.

Harry moved first, needing to look at her face. He loosened his hold on her waist but didn't release her. He couldn't. It felt like she would disappear if he was no longer holding onto her. "I didn't think this was what you meant," he said softly.

She swallowed. "What?"

He slipped his arms out from around her and took hold of her hands again. "I mean, when you said we couldn't be what we were before, before school started; I didn't think you meant _this_ , Hermione." He sounded broken. "Did I do something wrong? Did I say something I shouldn't have? Why are you so intent on keeping your distance from me?"

Hermione merely stared at him.

"I mean, I promised I wouldn't interfere, the same way you did, but you don't even look _happy_ , Hermione. Are you? Are you happy?"

"Harry?"

"Is it to do with me? Is it to do with Corner, or what?" he continued, hating that he was starting to sound even more desperate. "What can I do to make it better?"

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Just talk to me, Hermione," he said calmly. "That's what we do; what we've always done. We talk to each other."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, Harry," she said softly. A part of her was hoping that he would guide this conversation. She couldn't exactly tell him that her staying away from him was for his own good, now could she?

"The truth."

She leaned back slightly. "Do you remember what Healer Patrick said about the two of us possibly being too reliant on each other?"

He thought back for a moment before he nodded.

"I suppose that I just started to think that he was right," she said. "Because we had to figure out how to exist without the other. We're not going to be together forever."

"But we're together _now_ ," he countered. "Or we were, before you took it upon yourself to break us."

"Harry?" she squeaked.

He just stared at her, trying to figure out if she was actually telling the truth. It just felt like some lie that she was feeding herself to justify her own actions. There was something else. He could tell. "Do you remember when Ron asked us not to make him the reason we stopped helping each other recover?" He waited for her nod. "Well, it just never occurred to me that you would make yourself the reason."

She remained silent.

"Hermione?" he queried quietly. "Please? Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything is okay, Harry," she said, standing up straighter and taking a step back. She needed to be far away from him. It was already too hard without having him look at her like that. Those eyes, pleading with her, questioning her. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to explain it to you better," she said sadly. "But you have to know it's for the best."

"What is?" he asked, his suppressed anger getting the better of him. "Honestly, Hermione, what exactly are you trying to do to us? What part of _I need you_ don't you understand?"

"You need to stop then," she said.

"I can't," he said, standing up straighter as well, practically puffing out his chest. "I can pretend all day long but I can't just stop needing you. It isn't some switch I can flip, you know? It isn't as if I can just stop needing you just because you've figured out a way to stop needing me."

That made her breath catch. He thought that she didn't need him?

Well, of course he would think that. She'd spent the last few weeks desperately trying to convince him of that.

When Hermione didn't respond, Harry lost his patience. "You know what, I don't want to hear whatever you're thinking up to say," he said curtly. "When you're actually ready to _talk_ to me, then we'll talk." He turned sharply and started to walk away, but he stopped to look at her again, his features considerably softer. "I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. "And thank you for, um, for what you did for me in there; for what you said in there."

"Harry?"

"I don't know what happens now," he said sadly; "but thank you." And then he was walking away.

Hermione watched him go, her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to call out to him, but she didn't know what she _would_ say if he did end up stopping.

Harry was always her _friend_ first. That was the basis of their entire relationship. And now they were barely _that_. The more she allowed herself to think about it; the worse she felt about it.

She _had_ made sure that Harry was less reliant on her, and they'd stop being the kind of friends they once were because of it. Now that he no longer needed her to make sure that he didn't die at the hands of Voldemort; did he need her at all?

Did he _want_ her at all?

These were questions she'd asked herself for months now.

Because, well, the truth was that Hermione didn't know how to be just his friend anymore. Running from him had been her only way to deal with what she deemed 'another loss.' Someone would end up taking Harry away, and then what would happen to her?

It was selfish, she knew. Hurting him before he could hurt her.

The problem was that it still hurt.

He was Harry Potter, so it always would. She should have known.

True to her word, Hermione went to speak with Professor McGonagall about the incident in the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. To say the Headmistress was surprised to see her was an understatement. Before she could berate Hermione, the young Gryffindor explained why she wasn't in class.

To her credit, the Headmistress looked completely aghast that something like that would happen.

"I had no idea he felt this way," McGonagall said, searching her shelves for the file on their new DADA professor. "He's a former Auror and comes so highly recommended from Kingsley."

Hermione remained silent as she sat opposite the Headmistress' desk, her hands held loosely in her lap and her mind elsewhere.

Well, she was thinking about Harry and how, in this moment, it was no longer her comfort that he sought. It wasn't even that it was someone _else's_ ; it was that it wasn't _hers_.

"Oh."

Hermione looked up at her Professor.

"According to this file, he lost his wife to Death Eaters," McGonagall explained, her tone turning somber.

"We all lost someone," Hermione said, her voice low. "It doesn't give him the right to take it out on Harry."

"Of course," McGonagall said, clearing her throat and sitting up straight. "I'll have a word with him."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"I'll speak with him first, Miss Granger, and then I'll consider what action to take."

Hermione wasn't pleased but she made no comment. Instead, she thanked her Headmistress and then left the office. She couldn't quite explain what she was feeling, but she knew she didn't like it. She just couldn't get the hurt look of Harry out of her head. What was worse was that she was responsible. Hadn't the world already caused him enough pain?

Hermione did not return to class. She just couldn't bring herself to see Harry, or anyone for that matter. As much as she tried to _take care_ of the situation; she couldn't be sure if she'd done more harm than good. For the first time in quite a while, she stepped up to be at Harry's side and help him through the painful memories and the flashbacks; and he'd let her. For a while.

It hurt that, when he came back to himself, he left her side.

The truth was that it _was_ easy to get lost in school and Michael, and just forget that there was still so much she had to work through; still so much for her to recover from. And, for such a long time, it'd been Harry who helped her through it all. And she'd helped him.

But now he had other people here to help him: Ginny, Neville, Luna and Greengrass. She suspected there were others but the most important point was that she wasn't on the list. She made sure of it.

And, as a result, she'd made it all the more difficult for the both of them. And why? Because she was so terrified of some day coming second in his world? Scared beyond comprehension of having to see him with someone else, who he would love and adore?

If Hermione were being entirely honest - and she did try to be - she would have to admit that, to Harry, she still would have remained a priority, no matter what, or who he was with.

And perhaps that was the problem. It would be too difficult for all those involved, particularly her, so she selfishly removed herself from the equation to make it easier for him when the time came. Because girls were interested; they definitely were. All she had to do was remember Emily Rowan, and the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look that Harry had given her when she came down the stairs to know that her fears were inevitable. It already started.

There was an endless number of ways she could justify her behaviour, but it all came down to the only question that mattered: was she happy? Was he?

Hermione had to admit that she wasn't. Happy, that is.

If anything, she hadn't been happy for a lot longer than was healthy. It went all the way back to before the War, before the Hunt; before their lives became so complicated. It was difficult to be young and happy when you were being hunted, or when your best friend was the target for a sadistic psychopath.

She could remember moments, like the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding, just before it all went south, but they were just moments. Fleeting moments, in a world where people were so intent on hurting one another.

It occurred to her that the only way she would ever truly feel happy - and stay that way - was with Harry. It wasn't anything new. She already knew that she was safest with him; that she had a _home_ with him. But she'd given it all up so he could be happy. It was all she wanted: a happy Harry.

But he wasn't. And he wouldn't be... not without her. She had to have known.

Hermione hid out in her room until dinner time, and made her way down to the Great Hall. She was sure that people were already talking about the incident in the seventh-year DADA class, but she paid no mind to people glancing her way and whispering as she walked through the corridors.

She intended to check in with Harry; just to make sure that he was okay after everything that had been said and not said today, but she stopped dead in the doorway to the Hall when she spotted him at the Gryffindor table. He wasn't alone.

In fact, he was surrounded by people who he was sure _cared_ about him, and Daphne Greengrass was one of them. There was a Slytherin sitting at the Gryffindor table and Hermione couldn't help her derisive smile.

The school was still standing.

The world wasn't ending.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, Harry looked up and towards the door. For a moment, he frowned, and then his face broke out in a wide, child-like grin, as he indicated to the Slytherin sitting to his right. His antics forced a laugh out of her, and she shook her head in amused disapproval.

Slowly though, Harry's smile started to fade and his eyes flickered towards the Ravenclaw table - her assumed destination - before he dropped his gaze entirely.

Hermione stood perfectly still, remaining unmoving. She saw _so_ much in that one moment, and she just couldn't bring herself to move forward. So, resigning herself to this being a God-awful, terrible day; Hermione stepped back and disappeared from the Great Hall. What was she doing? Better yet, _why_ was she doing it?

She took a walk out towards the Black Lake, intent on spending some time alone with her thoughts. There were feelings she desperately needed to sift through, and many decisions that she had to make. About Harry; about Michael, but most importantly about _herself_.

Today changed things. She wasn't yet sure how or why, but she just knew that today changed things. Many things.

It was quite late when Hermione made it back to her room. Well after curfew, in fact. The truth was that she just didn't want to see anyone; not after the day she'd had.

Thankfully, her room was empty of any redheads, and Hermione was able to get ready for bed in peace. For the first time in a long time, she wasn't concerned with getting her things ready for the next day or even double-checking that she'd completed all her homework. The Arithmancy project was complete now, which was somehow significant in the great scheme of things.

When she finally climbed under the covers of her bed, she was already fighting tears. Today had been a horrible day. A terrible, awful day, and all she wanted was to crawl into Harry's bed and be held in his strong, ever-present arms.

But she couldn't. It wasn't even as if she _wouldn't_ anymore. She couldn't.

Hermione rolled onto her side and reached into the drawer of her night table. She knew exactly where to find what she was looking for and she smiled slightly when her fingers closed around the rolled up pieces of paper. It'd been a while since she pulled out Harry's birthday gift to her, but she couldn't imagine a better time than right now.

She rolled back onto her back and propped herself up on her pillows. She took a long, deep breath before she started to read, willingly losing herself in the reasons why Harry Potter (and the world) needed her.

Hermione was openly crying by the time she was finished reading. There was so much written in his words; so much that she hadn't seen before.

And, all at once, she knew what she had to do.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"That's it, then," Daphne said proudly. "The last patrol of term."

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "It's been a long one, hasn't it?"

"The term or the patrol?"

"The term," Harry replied. "But that's probably because I've been awake for two thirds of it, as opposed to half."

"All you do is complain," she muttered.

He grinned at her. "You're definitely going to miss me over Christmas Break."

"What are you doing for Christmas anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably headed to the Burrow - that's the Weasleys' home - and then maybe a few other things. I have a plan, but Hermione and I haven't really talked about it yet..." he trailed off for a moment before he cleared his throat. "What about you? Planning any scathing revelations, are you?"

And in that moment, Daphne finally made the decision. The truth was that she'd spent majority of her day toying with the idea but now she was certain.

Before they made the mutual decision to head towards the dungeons, Daphne practically shoved him into a broom cupboard. Hard enough to make him stumble.

Harry almost fell over a bucket. "Blimey, Daphne," he muttered, barely regaining his balance. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Daphne shut the door behind her and immediately cast a Silencing Charm. She took a moment to calm herself, her eyes settling on his confused face. "I'm going to tell him."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, immediately knowing what she was talking about. "When?"

"Over Christmas. He and his mother are attending the annual party that my parents throw. I think it's the right time. I think he's ready; I think _we_ are."

"You're sure?" he felt he had to ask.

"Positive."

"That's amazing!" he said, allowing himself to smile. "Do you know how you're going to do it?"

"No clue."

"Do you want to practice on me?"

Daphne gave him a rather seductive look that made him swallow. "Do you mean the way I've already been practicing on you?"

Harry fought the urge to squirm. Really, it felt like she was undressing him with her eyes.

"Because you know we won't be able to do that again once I tell him, right?"

Harry pushed out his bottom lip in mock hurt. "We won't?"

Daphne laughed out loud. "Harry!"

He smiled innocently. "No, I totally understand. I suppose I just wish I'd known that the last time."

"Why?"

He felt a bit embarrassed. "Oh, I don't know... It's stupid."

"What? Tell me."

"It's nothing, really. It just would have been nice to know."

Daphne gave him one of those seductive smiles once more and Harry shivered. "Why do you think we're in here, Potter?"

Harry was skeptical. "One last time?"

She nodded.

Harry barely gave her time to finish her sentence before his lips were on hers. Harry knew he had improved dramatically in _this_ department. Everything to do with Daphne was a steep learning curve.

Harry pushed her up against the door and, somehow, in his haste, the light went out. Not that they cared. His tie came off after his jersey and she unbuttoned his shirt, hands eager to touch his Quidditch muscles.

Her tie was in the way. Even as he pulled it off, he was aware that this would be the first and the last time _this_ would happen. It was wildly exhilarating and he was happy that they could reach this closure and still remain friends.

They made out for a lot longer than they ever had and they were both completely breathless when they finally stopped.

"I think that I could run a marathon from all the breath you've stolen from me," Daphne said, buttoning up her own shirt in the dark. She bent to lift up their ties and handed one to him.

"You're going to miss me, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"And every time you kiss Malfoy, you're going to think of me."

"Merlin, I hope not."

Harry laughed, moving towards the door. "Get rid of the Silencing Charm, will you?"

"Wait. I'm still getting dressed. Who knew just kissing could dishevel clothes like this?"

He smirked at her. "I'm a talented wizard, Greengrass. Never forget."

"How could I? You remind me every day, you egotistical maniac."

"I can see it now, you know... You'll be in the throes of ecstasy and, instead of screaming Malfoy's name; you'll scream mine!"

"I don't know what I find more disturbing: the thought that you're thinking of me and Draco that way or that you think I would be thinking of you while doing the deed."

"Deny it all you want," he muttered, opening the door and stepping out. "You're always going to want me." And then he was walking and he didn't bother to close the door behind him.

"Oh, you're evil, Potter," she said hotly, rushing after him as she tucked her tie away and straightened her skirt.

Harry was forced to break into a run to evade her lunge towards him. At some point, she managed to grab onto his jersey and he slowed to a stop, still breathless and laughing gloriously.

Daphne fell into step beside him and Harry did an unthinkable thing by taking hold of her hand. She didn't say anything. Tonight was the last night they were allowed to avoid their lives.

"I'm going to tell Draco," Daphne confirmed, as if she had to remind herself. "Which means that you're going to have to tell Granger."

"Because we had a deal, didn't we?"

Daphne sneaked a look in his direction. "We did." She watched him take a long, calming breath. "You're not going to try to get out of it?"

He shook his head. "I have to tell her. I can't go on like this, really. I'll tell her and that will be it. It'll be her turn to make decisions."

"Aren't you afraid of rejection?"

"Aren't you?"

"Deadly."

Harry sighed. "I'm a Gryffindor. I should have told her weeks ago. I mean, I really should have told her the moment I met her. I'm brave enough to face whatever her reaction does to me; I just don't want her to have to face what it does to her."

"Honestly, Harry, you're too good. Sometimes I wonder if she really deserves you."

He tilted his head, giving her a sideways look. "If _she_ doesn't deserve me, Daphne; who in this world possibly could?"

"Hermione is very lucky."

He smiled at the use of Hermione's first name. He decided to repay the nicety. "So is Draco."

She smiled too. Then, perking up a bit, she said, "And on the off chance that we both do end up getting rejected, we can just go back to making out in broom cupboards."

He laughed out loud. "As tantalising as that sounds, I really hope neither of us gets rejected. Even Draco Malfoy deserves some semblance of happiness."

"You reckon he'd find that with me?" she asked softly, her voice sounding more vulnerable than she intended.

"Why not?" Harry said, noticing. "I mean, when you weren't trying to suffocate him in his sleep, sure."

She bumped his shoulder with her own. "You're an idiot," she concluded. Then, dropping her tone to something serious: "Do you think it will be different after the holidays?"

"If you and Malfoy are together?"

She nodded.

"Are you referring to you and me, or just in general? Because, generally, I think the colours will go out of the world for you, if you're with Malfoy."

"Ha! Can you be serious for one minute?"

He laughed at himself. "Things will change. They definitely will. I doubt you and I will hang out as much, but that's okay. Because that was all this was, right? Helping each other get what we really want. And I want Hermione. She's all I want."

"Sometimes I just can't get over how lucky she is," Daphne said, shaking her head. "And then I remember how stubborn and blind she is and I just want to shake her. I mean, seriously, Harry Potter is head over heels for you. Open your eyes and see him!"

Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair. "She'll see. I'm going to tell her."

"Do you think they'll be okay with a double date some time in the future?"

He laughed, even cackling softly. "I don't even think _I'm_ okay with that! But I reckon Hermione might consider, provided she never finds out what we just did in that broom cupboard."

"Hey! It's not my fault you have wandering hands."

"Some would say 'expert' hands."

"Who, Harry? Who would say that?"

He shrugged. "I would never reveal my sources."

"Do you have references?"

Her question took Harry back to the start of this whole thing. They'd both come a long way in such a short time, and he really believed that they'd helped each other. Somehow, in whatever way, they'd given the other what they needed, however emotionally or physically. But now it was time to face it.

Daphne was right. It was time.

After he dropped her off at the dungeons; Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, his mind running a mile a minute about how he could tell Hermione that he'd loved her for months now. _For years_.

Hermione was waiting for him. The two of them hadn't properly spoken since the debacle in their DADA class. Professor Puth has received an indefinite suspension and the Seventh-Years were given free periods until the end of term. Majority of them were, in fact, War veterans so it wasn't a huge slight to their academic goals.

Harry had to admit that he was surprised to see her. And the fact that there was no book anywhere near her was alarming. She'd waited because she wanted to talk. Just from the look on her face, he knew that whatever she was about to tell him would change things.

"Hey," Harry managed to say.

"Hey," Hermione replied softly. Then, "Where were you?"

Harry couldn't read her tone, but it was nothing he had ever heard before, more curious than a reprimand but still rather icy, like she was irritated with herself for her own reaction. "Umm, patrol."

"Your patrol ended more than an hour ago."

Harry swallowed. She knew, didn't she? Could he lie? "Oh, umm, we ended up just talking in the Prefects' common room."

"No you didn't," she said quickly, still frowning. "I went to look. I've been looking for you for a while. I was worried."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She was _worried_? Since when? "We were just walking around," he finally said. "Why? Is something wrong? Did something happen to Ron?"

"No, nothing like that," she said, offering him a genuine smile. "I just need to talk to you about something rather important," she said, patting the couch beside her, inviting him to sit with her.

Harry didn't move. From the new look on her face, he had an idea of what she was about to tell him and he would not be able to stay calm if he were to sit down. "No, I think I'll stand," he said dryly.

Hermione cleared her throat, deciding not to fight him on his determination. She opened her mouth to explain to him that it was her decision to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, when she caught sight of Harry's tie.

Except, it wasn't actually Harry's tie, and Hermione felt something painful twist within her.

"Harry, what's that around your neck?" she found herself asking, unable to resist.

"What?" he asked innocently, more confused than anything.

Hermione stood up to get a better look at him. "Your tie. It's a Slytherin one."

Harry felt his stomach drop, and the air in lungs force its way upwards. Keeping his wits about him, Harry let out a nervous laugh. "You noticed, huh?"

Hermione frowned. "Why are you wearing a Slytherin tie, Harry? Is it Daphne's?"

Harry could only imagine what Hermione could be thinking and he needed to squash it down as soon as possible. "It's Daphne's, yeah," he answered easily. "Supposed to be some joke."

Hermione didn't look at all convinced and Harry's heart began to race. There was no way he would admit the truth, for both Daphne's and his own sakes. If Hermione were to know, then Draco would surely find out somehow.

And he'd promised. They made a deal. Nobody was to know.

"Not a very funny one, I can see," he added, trying to cement his lie.

Hermione shook her head, sensing his lie. "You know, you could have told me."

He frowned. "What?"

"About you and Daphne."

Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling rather winded. "What about me and Daphne?"

"You're seeing her, aren't you? You _could_ have told me, Harry."

"Told you what, Hermione? There's nothing to tell."

"But your tie, Harry; you can't tell me that was an accident."

For a moment, Harry's anger flared. She had no right to make assumptions about him, even if those assumptions happened to be correct, but still not really right either. "I told you it was some joke," he repeated. "Why won't you believe me?"

"Because I can tell that you're lying."

"Oh, because you're just an expert on Harry Potter then, aren't you?" The snark in his tone was enough to catch her a bit off guard. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but you don't know anything about me anymore. Why are you even down here? I mean, it isn't as if _I_ ask you what you get up to during your patrols! Or _after_ , for that matter!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why is that?"

"What?"

" _Why_ do you never ask?"

Harry was stumped. How did they get to _this_? And was this really the way he would tell her that he was so hopelessly in love with her that hearing her even mention another boy's name caused him physical pain?

No. No it wasn't.

"Because it's not something I need to know," he said simply. "I have to deal with enough miscreants on my patrols; why would I want to hear about yours?"

She eyed him for a moment, certain that he wasn't telling her the truth. But, before she could even think to mention it, he started speaking again.

"And I don't have to explain myself to you," he added, his tone taking on a certain harshness that neither of them expected. This was so far away from the sentiment he'd been agonising over just moments ago. "You gave up the right to ask about my whereabouts or what I get up to when you decided to stop caring about me."

Hermione pressed her lips together, just waiting. Did he really think that she didn't _care_ about him?

Clearly, he had more to say, and it seemed like it was all going to come out tonight. He must have spent a lot of time thinking about all of this, because the new Harry Potter didn't usually say things without thinking first. Though, he did give the impression that he was about to embark on a self-destructive rampage.

Harry was quick to continue, his heart thumping in his chest. "I came here for you," he said, his voice rising. "I bloody well came to this damn Castle where I watched my friends _die_ , _for you_. We both know that. I made the decision because I wanted to be with you; because I needed you, and I had the stupid thought that you needed me too. But you clearly don't, so that's decided it then, hasn't it?

"Tomorrow, I'm going to get on that bloody train, and I won't come back," he practically spat. "You won't have to worry anymore. You won't have to _set aside_ time for me or anything like that. I don't need you doing me any favours. Support Ravenclaw, for all I bloody care." He snapped his mouth shut, wondering if he'd said too much. He didn't know if she knew that Ginny might have mentioned the real reason she'd been present on the day of the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw.

But he was just so damn angry.

"I can't do it anymore," he said, deflating. "I can't, and I won't. I'll go where I'm needed; where I'm wanted, Hermione, and clearly it's not here," he said. " _We_ decided. We damn well decided! I've served my purpose, haven't I? I can now go be with Ron. At least he wants me around." It was said with such a finality that even Harry's breath caught. "Dammit, Hermione," he hissed; "what did you do to us?"

Harry didn't bother to wait for a response. He didn't want to hear what she had to say anymore. This thing they had, it was broken.

Harry headed straight down to the dungeons, needing to see Daphne right away. He had no idea how to get to her though. It wasn't as if they had means of communicating when they weren't in the same place. He made a mental note to fix that as soon as possible.

Harry decided to wait. Someone was bound to leave, or enter at some point.

The second he thought of it; he immediately regretted it. Of course it would be Draco Malfoy. This night was just getting better and better, wasn't it?

Harry was tempted to ignore him and wait for another student to come by, but he desperately needed to talk to Daphne. He needed her bluntness to get him through his somewhat 'self-destructive rampage.' He felt out of control all of a sudden.

"Potter," Malfoy drawled.

Harry took a deep breath, but it offered him no respite. "Malfoy, do you think you could get Daphne for me?" he rushed, getting all the words out before his brain told his mouth to close.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed to slits in the dimply lit corridor. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I really need to talk to her," Harry replied. "It's important."

"Why don't you just stop flaunting it about, Potter?"

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way that you two are always together? Nobody believes that all you do is patrol."

Harry took a step back, trying and failing to figure out what exactly was in Malfoy's voice. It was anger. Was it hurt? Resignation?

Harry tried to ignore it. "I need to speak to her right now," he said. "Please, can you just get her, and then I can go?"

"No," Malfoy said.

"No?"

"I said no."

Harry blinked. "But why?"

"Why would I facilitate a meeting between you two?"

Harry growled. "This is not one of those times when you get to throw whatever misconceived ideas you have about me around," he said. "I'm in a crisis right now, and I need to talk to _my friend_ , Daphne. Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there like the prick we both know you are?"

Malfoy looked positively livid.

"Merlin, would you stop looking like someone poured rotten milk down your mouth!" Harry shouted. "Honestly, I'm about done with your feeling sorry for yourself! So you did some shitty things... We all did. Lift your head, open your damn eyes, and _see_!" For a moment, it felt like he was talking to Hermione.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, I see... you're jealous." Harry let out a bitter laugh. Wow, this was a destructive path he was on. "Oh, it _burns_ you that I'm friends with her, doesn't it? But that's all we are, I swear. Daphne's in love with you, you idiot! Now, can you please do us both a favour and go and get her so I can get out of here before I end up unleashing magic unimaginable on this damned Castle?"

Malfoy just stared at him, clearly stunned.

Harry, once again, was forced to clamp his mouth shut. He'd gone and done it again. He'd said too much. Daphne was going to kill him; she was going to straight up murder him.

Voldemort had nothing on a Slytherin scorn.

Just then, the dungeon's doors opened and a Slytherin that Harry didn't recognise stepped out. While the door was open, Harry screamed.

"Daphne! Daphne! Daphne!"

There was silence for an indeterminable amount of time, before the one and only Daphne Greengrass stepped out of the dungeons, looking a mixture of perplexed, irritated and somewhat excited to see him. She was clearly in her pyjamas already, wrapped up in a dressing gown.

"Merlin, Potter, are you trying to wake up the whole of Slytherin?"

"We need to talk," he said calmly.

"About what?" she asked, and then gasped when she noticed Malfoy standing to her left. "Oh, Draco, umm, what are you doing out here?"

"About that," Harry said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

Daphne looked between the two boys, her eyes widening. "What? What?"

"We need to talk," Harry said again. "I did something stupid." He stepped towards her. "Walk with me?"

She hesitated.

"Daphne. Now."

She took an involuntary step towards him. "Okay."

Harry put out his arm, and the two of them took off down the corridor, leaving Malfoy behind, still looking stunned.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she grabbed onto his sleeve tightly. "What did you do? What did you say to him?"

"Well," he said; "I may or may not have revealed to him that you're in love with him."

"What?" she squeaked, coming to a stop. "Why would you do that? _What_ would make you do that?"

"I'm sorry," he said first. "Things happened."

"What things?"

"Where's your tie?" he asked pointedly.

"What?"

"Your tie, Daphne; where's your tie?"

She automatically reached for her collar but she was no longer wearing a tie. "Umm." Then she spied his tie. "Shit."

"Hermione was waiting for me in the common room and we kind of had a fight." His voice cracked. "I said things. I said a lot of things."

"Apparently that's all you're good at right now," she muttered, then sighed. "Did you tell her that you loved her?"

He shook his head. "I didn't want to tell her like that," he said, though it felt like a lie. "This makes me sound horrible, but I also didn't want to give her the satisfaction."

"The satisfaction?"

He ran a hand through his hair again, trying to find the words. "Like, my love is a gift, you know? To be given to someone who deserves it, and I just didn't want to _give_ it to her in that moment. Does that make sense?"

Daphne regarded him for a moment.

"Am I being spiteful?"

"You're hurt, Harry," she said gently. "You're allowed to be hurt."

He took a deep breath. "What are you going to do about Malfoy?"

She let out a bark of laughter. "Did you see his face?"

"He was definitely shocked," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry, again. He was just being a prick, and acting jealous, and it all just came out."

She blinked. "Was he really jealous?"

He nodded, waited a beat and then: "You're being awfully calm about this?"

"Oh, I've killed you about a million times in my head," she said, offering him a small smile. "I suppose I'm not that mad though. I planned on telling him myself, right? Apparently tonight hasn't been a good night for Harry Potter."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I also may have told Hermione that I'm not coming back to Hogwarts after Christmas Break."

Her eyes snapped towards him. "What?"

He couldn't help his embarrassment. "I told you that I said _things_."

"Okay, now I think you're being spiteful."

He buried his face in hands. "When did life get so complicated?" he asked, groaning against his hands. "I mean, at least with Voldemort, it was simple. _Try not to die_. I could handle that."

Daphne stepped towards him. "I don't care what you said; you have to come back. I won't survive this place without you."

"But you'll have Malfoy."

"That's provided he isn't coming up with some way to let me down gently right now."

"He's not."

She frowned. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

She eyed him skeptically. "Well, if you say so," she said sarcastically. "So, what are you going to do now?"

He took a moment to think about it. "Well, I have to finish packing, and then I'm going to go to sleep."

"And then?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "There are things I plan to do this Break, and I don't know how long it's all going to take."

"But you'll come back?" she asked, annoyed at how small her voice sounded. "I mean, you _have_ to come back. You love Ancient Runes too much to just give up on it."

"I don't know if you know this about me, Daphne, but I'm not really a fan of school."

"You're just a fan of Hermione."

He nodded sadly.

She groaned. "Fine," she said, sighing. "But you'll write, won't you? I mean, the voyeur in you will be curious how I manage to salvage something with Draco."

"Oh, I'm so very concerned with his happiness," he muttered.

"You're concerned with mine," she said, slipping an arm around his waist and turning them both so they could start on their way back to the dungeons.

"That I am. I want you to be happy, Daphne Greengrass."

"As I you, Harry Potter," she said melodically. "Even if it's with Granger."

"It is," he admitted. "That hasn't changed."

"Then you'll have to find some way to forgive her for being a royal idiot. Somehow, you're going to have to stop feeling hurt."

"I know," he said. "I'll try."

"She'll come to her senses. You'll see."

"How can you be so sure?" he felt like he had to ask.

"How can you be so sure about Draco?" she countered, and no more words were exchanged.

* * *

That night, Hermione went to his room. She wasn't sure he would allow her into his bed, and she was surprised when he opened the covers for her once she made her presence known.

As she climbed in beside him, she was made aware of several things: Harry did not open his arms for her, nor did he draw her in to press against his chest. In fact, he turned away from her, presenting her with only his back.

Hermione had to admit that it stung but she wasn't going to force him to hold her. After their last conversation, she shouldn't have been surprised. She lay on her side, her front facing his back, though they were not touching.

She felt like she had to say something, anything. She couldn't let him leave and have that conversation be the last thing spoken between the two of them. She had to give him a reason to come back.

Hermione drew her hands up to rest in front of her. She closed them into fists and pressed them gently against Harry's back. If he felt it, he said nothing. Then, closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against his back as well, at the spot between his shoulder blades. It was all she would allow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to tell if he was awake or not. His laboured breathing wasn't giving anything away. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Hermione fought the emotion threatening to consume her. No. She was not going to cry!

"I do need you," she admitted softly. "I've never not needed you. I'm just preparing myself for the day that I'm no longer allowed to."

That did it. She started to cry. Harry had to be asleep because there was no way he could ignore this. Even in this state, he couldn't ignore the intensity of her tears.

Harry Potter did not move.

"I'm sorry," Hermione breathed, one last time, and then she let sleep claim her.

Hermione woke up alone. The curtains were drawn around her, shielding her from whatever was outside. She didn't want to get up. Removing herself from the warmth of his bed or the pleasant smell of his sheets just didn't seem appealing at all. But she had to see him before he left.

Gathering her strength, she heaved the heavy blanket off of her, to be hit with the painful cold. Did the boy leave a window open or something?

Hermione shivered as she dropped her feet to the ground and reached for her wand. A well-practiced Heating Charm later and she was on her way.

It was surprising, really, how quiet the Tower actually was. Was everyone down at breakfast already? Why hadn't Harry woken her?

Hermione took pause in the Gryffindor common room, more because she had a pestering feeling that something just wasn't right.

A quick look at the clock confirmed her suspicions. She felt her heart drop right down to her stomach. No. She couldn't have slept for so long. It was impossible.

It was ten after eleven in the morning, and Hermione was quite certain that she was the last remaining Gryffindor in the Tower.

She started to shake. What on earth had possessed her to think this was a good idea?

"Harry," she automatically said, her voice barely audible over the bustling wind just outside the window.

In a moment of sheer panic, Hermione ran up to the girls' seventh year dorm and, indeed, it was empty. Ginny was gone and so was her trunk. Hermione didn't stop there. She ran to the boys' seventh year dorm to find it equally empty. Neville was gone.

And finally, in Harry's room, the trunk was gone. So was Thaddeus' cage - as if that bird even needed one. Everything about the room suddenly felt impersonal, as if there hadn't been a human being living in here for the past several months.

Hermione was alone.

The feeling only crept up on her when she discovered Harry to be gone. He was gone. Would he ever come back?

Before she started to cry, Hermione launched herself into Harry's bed and buried her face in his pillows. It took great effort to cover herself with the heavy blanket once more. And that's the moment she saw it.

It fluttered to the floor, as if it had been trapped by the blanket. Hermione reached over the side of the bed to retrieve the small piece of parchment. It was type-written. When wasn't it, these days?

 _All I want is for you to be happy. It's all I've ever wanted; all I've ever needed._

 _You are still my person, even if I'm no longer yours._

 _Merry Christmas, Hermione, and always remember that you are loved._

 _You are so very loved._

And that was the moment that Hermione knew.

She just _knew_.

* * *

 _End Of Part Two_

* * *

 **AN** : This chapter contains the scene that I envisioned from the very beginning of the story (Hermione's fists against Harry's back), so... yay. Though, I'll be the first to admit things went quite awry to get here. I promise that Part Three will fix everything.


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Three**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

For Hermione Granger, it probably had to be the worst Christmas Break she ever had.

Or the best, depending on how one looked at it.

Hermione spent the Break in profound self-reflection and eating a little too much delicious food. It felt strange, not having Harry around. He was ever-present, always just there if ever she needed him.

And now he just _wasn't_.

How had she managed to accomplish such a thing? That was _never_ what she wanted. She never wanted that... Surely.

He was Harry. She was Hermione. For such a long time, they were a package deal. And yet, he'd done the very thing she'd desperately tried to: _he'd let go_.

The nightmares were back with a vengeance and every one of them involved Harry in some way. When hadn't they? The problem was now that she was dreaming of his death; of possibly never seeing him again. Would he really never come back?

Hermione missed him terribly. Just knowing that he wasn't around actually brought about that same aching in her chest and a painful longing in her bones.

 _He'd let go_.

He'd managed to do it before she had the chance to, and it _hurt_.

However it happened, whichever one of them managed to do it first; it was always going to hurt. She had to have known that. There was no way to suddenly be without Harry and not have it ruin her. He was like an appendage; so exponentially linked to her that he would leave a searing wound, if ever he were gone.

Hermione wanted to blame him, or even blame Daphne Greengrass, but it was pointless. It was Hermione's fault and the sooner she accepted that, the better. She'd pushed him away, before he had the chance to leave of his own accord, and now she'd screwed up everything else.

She needed to see Harry but she was sure he wouldn't want to see her. He'd yelled at her several times before, she remembered, but never like _that_. Before, they'd come from a place of stubbornness, or even him 'saving people thing,' but now, he'd said words she knew he'd stored away. And when he finally let them out; they were designed to hurt.

And they did.

Every time she thought about it - which was pretty much all the time - she started to cry, which made her terrible company. Because of it, she spent most of her time holed up in her room - which was actually Harry's room - with her typewriter, writing the hardest chapter she'd ever had to write.

In what lifetime did the Golden _Duo_ not exist?

She couldn't understand why Harry hadn't said anything to her before. Why did he accept what was happening? Why wouldn't he -

It didn't take Hermione long to figure out that he had done it all for her. Everything he had _ever_ done was for her. He said as much in their last conversation. She was the only reason he decided to come to Hogwarts. She was the only reason he did a lot of things.

Eventually, Hermione resigned herself to wait for him to come back. She tried sending letters but everything that she wanted to say couldn't be written down. She needed to see him; she needed to say it to his face, so she would wait for him. Despite what he said, she was sure he would return. She had to believe it.

As far as Christmas went, Hermione couldn't bring herself to feel festive. For the first time in a long time, she was truly alone. It sent her into a rage whenever she thought of Harry experiencing _this_ with the Dursleys for so many years. How was it possible that he turned out as wonderful as he did? That, in spite of their horrid treatment, he was still the amazing boy that he was?

Because Harry Potter _was_ wonderful, and genuine and so kind and perfectly pure. They didn't make them like him anymore and Hermione even allowed herself to think that God was showing off when He made him.

Hermione couldn't wait to see him; to explain what had happened; to _apologise_.

Only, when the Hogwarts Express arrived in the New Year, Harry Potter was not on the train. Hermione refused to accept it as fact, which was the main reason she pulled Ginny aside in the corridor in front of the girls' seventh-year dorm before the redhead even had the chance to get settled and unpack.

"Where's Harry?"

Ginny gave her a look that Hermione had never before seen on the redhead's face, and Ginny Weasley was as expressive as they came. "Happy New Year to you too, Hermione," she replied coldly.

Hermione could even feel the chill in her words but she decided not to dwell on it. Pushing through, she asked her question again, "Where's Harry?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Ginny asked, sensing some severity in Hermione's tone. "He's here, isn't he?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "He's what?"

Ginny paled. "Hermione, are you trying to tell me that Harry isn't at Hogwarts? He didn't come back?"

The sound of that just made the brunette witch frown. "What? When?"

"Before Christmas," Ginny said seriously.

"Ginny, Harry isn't here," she said, barely concealing her own panic. "He hasn't been back since you guys left. Tell me what happened."

Ginny gave Hermione the once-over. "What does it tell you, Hermione, that you have no idea where he is right now?"

Hermione didn't respond to that question, absently filing it away for pondering later. She first had _this_ mystery to solve. "Tell me what happened," she repeated.

Ginny shook her head of whatever ice she was projecting and pulled Hermione up to the Head Girl's room. Once they were behind the closed door, Ginny ran a hand over her face, groaning unintelligibly. Then she turned to Hermione. Neither of them were bothered enough to sit down.

"Look, I don't know _what_ happened, really. He was quiet on the train, barely said any words to us, except, well..." she trailed off. "Anyway, Ron was at the station when we arrived and Harry came with us to the Burrow. I didn't know what had gone on between you two until Harry started telling Ron about how the term had been so far, and he just completely broke down, Hermione.

"Do you even know what you did to him?" Ginny shook her head. "Bloody hell, I can't even be angry with you, can I?' she said, sounding defeated. "It isn't even your fault. He's too stubborn to tell you to your face."

There is was again. That _thing_ that she apparently couldn't _see_. "But tell me _what_ exactly?"

"You're supposed to be the smartest witch for a generation, Hermione. How is that everyone figured it out before you did?"

"Will people just stop saying that?" she asked, her frustration getting the better of her. "Seriously. Clearly I'm missing something really important here, so why won't somebody just tell me and get it over with?"

Ginny pressed her lips together. Now definitely wasn't the time. "So, Ron told Harry to come back here and talk to you. He convinced him that this was where he needed to be and Harry agreed. He left the next morning. I swear, Hermione, I thought he was here with you."

"He's not."

"Are you sure? He could be holed up in his room. He would definitely do something like that."

"He's not here, Ginny. I know."

"He could be," she forced.

"He's not here," Hermione snapped, her frustration rising once more. "I know he's not in his room because I've been in his room, sleeping in his bed. So I _know_ , okay?"

Ginny just stared at her friend, silenced. Truthfully, she couldn't say that she was surprised by Hermione's confession. It should have bothered her, really, but she found she was okay with it. She had to remember that this was Harry and Hermione with which they were dealing.

"Then where is he?" Ginny asked softly, worry creeping into her tone.

"Do you think Ron will know?"

Ginny shook her head. "Ron thinks he's been here the whole time." She sighed, then she growled. "Do you think he went to _your_ house?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "Maybe. Or even Grimmauld Place."

"That means he spent Christmas alone," Ginny said sadly. "The idiot."

"I did too," Hermione said softly, admitting it for the first time.

Ginny's eyes snapped towards her. "What? Where was Michael?"

"He went home," she simply said.

"But why? When? Hermione, stop making me ask questions and just tell me the story. What happened?"

Hermione took a deep breath and moved to sit down on the edge of her bed. She waited until Ginny came to join her before she started to explain. It was the first time she was saying it loud, mainly because Harry hadn't really allowed her to the last time she tried. "Michael and I broke up a few days before the end of term," she explained.

Ginny's eyes bulged. " _Before_ we left?"

Hermione nodded. "Actually, the night of the incident in DADA," she explained. "I was going to tell Harry that night that we fought, before the start of the Break. I was also going to tell him that I thought I needed to spend Christmas here, to get over everything that had happened with Michael. However inadvertently, Harry Potter has always been able to tell just what I need."

Ginny wasn't sure what to say. "You could have just come to the Burrow," she offered.

"I really do think that I needed the time alone," she said truthfully. "I learned a few things about myself. Plus, I was sure Harry wouldn't want to see me. And from the look you gave me when you arrived, I'm guessing you wouldn't have been too happy about it either."

Ginny blushed from embarrassment. "He wants you back. _I_ want you back. I would have gotten over it eventually."

"It wasn't as if he was at the Burrow anyway," Hermione pointed out.

"Which brings us back to the whereabouts of our favourite wizard," Ginny muttered. "Maybe Neville will know. Harry had to have told _someone._ He had to know we'd drive ourselves mad with worry."

Hermione knew that Harry wouldn't have told Neville. Whatever he went off to do was done alone, and that was definitely on purpose. Had she pushed him so far away that she'd completely lost him?

Yes, yes she had.

"I'll ask Neville," Hermione said. "And maybe Professor McGonagall." If it really was his intention not to come back, then he would have had to speak to their Headmistress about his intentions. As angry as he was, he was too polite.

The problem was that Hermione didn't expect their professor to be so unhelpful. She blatantly refused to offer Hermione any useful information, and Hermione's brief talk with Neville was equally fruitless. Where was he?

So it was a dejected Hermione who returned to Harry's Head Boy room, climbed onto his bed and allowed herself to wallow in a bout of self-pity. Was this it? Was he really not coming back? Would she ever see him again?

Hermione looked up from her musings at the sound of a knock to see Ginny standing in the doorway.

"Any luck with Professor McGonagall?" Ginny asked, moving into the room with something held behind her back, hidden from Hermione's sight.

Hermione shook her head, forcibly stopping herself from asking about whatever Ginny was concealing. "She just said that he went to her for help with a Portkey. He went _somewhere_ , but she wouldn't tell me where. Apparently he made her promise him. She wouldn't even tell me if she knew he was coming back."

Ginny frowned. "That's odd. Why wouldn't she tell you at least that?"

Hermione didn't have a response.

"Where could he have gone?" Ginny asked, sounding thoughtful.

"I have absolutely no idea," she admitted. Then, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer, she asked: "Gin, what's behind your back?"

Ginny couldn't help her grin. "So, well, Harry asked me to swipe your typewriter one night so he could type something up, right?"

Hermione just nodded. It definitely wasn't the first time they'd conspired to do such a thing. She'd got part of her birthday present out of it.

"So he typed up whatever he typed up, and I begged him for hours to find out what it was, and then, well, on the Express, he finally gave in." She beamed. "He finally admitted to Neville, Luna and me just what we've all known for months now."

"What?"

Ginny brought her arm forward to reveal a wad of paper. "I'd say it should count as a chapter in that book of yours," she said, as she handed it over for Hermione to see. There was a title page of sorts, and the typed words took her breath away.

 _The Many (Many) Reasons Why Harry James Potter is (So Completely) in Love with Hermione Jean Granger_

by Harry James Potter

Hermione blinked. Wait. What?

She looked up at Ginny, silently asking the question. Was this real?

The redhead merely nodded. Then, she said, "You said you wanted someone to just come out with it, so here it is, Hermione. Harry Potter is in love with you. Now you know. So what are you going to do about it?"

Hermione was sure she wasn't reading right. Or _hearing_ right. Wait, what?

"Did you really not know?" Ginny asked, spying Hermione's bulging eyes. "Really?"

Hermione just blinked.

"Well, he was going to tell you, you know?" Ginny continued. "He and Daphne, they made some kind of deal with each other. If she told Malfoy how she felt; then he would tell you, so he was going to tell you.

"And then he was going to give you this, so you would always know. He loves you, Hermione, and not in the best friend or sisterly way. Definitely not like a sister. He _loves_ you, absolutely adores you, and he's been torturing himself with it because you made him promise not to get involved when it came to finding love. He's noble and stupid, and you're blind and stupid. Really, you're the perfect pair.

"So this is it. I forced him into giving it to me on the Express, because I selfishly needed to know, and I'm giving it to you now, because you have to know and understand as well. You have to understand why you hurt _him_ above all, and not just because of Michael. It was part of it, there was so much more to it, and so you have to know. He _already_ lost so much in the War, and you made him face the possibility of losing you too. He might forgive you for that one day, but I'm not sure that I will." She took a breath. "Merry Christmas, Hermione. I hope it's all you wanted." With that, the redhead turned on her heel and left the room, making sure to close the door behind her.

Hermione took a moment to compose herself. _All she wanted_? No, this was definitely _not_ what she wanted. How could anyone even think that?

She looked back down at the title on the page in front of her, and her heart skipped a beat. It was shocking, and yet _not_ all at the same time. Harry loved her? Harry was _in love_ with her?

Without thinking about it much more, Hermione leaned back against the pillows and started to read, her tears starting to fall from the very first sentence.

* * *

Hermione was struggling to keep it together as she made her way down the steps to the Gryffindor common room the following morning. She had an endless amount of questions for Ginny, and for Harry, but only Neville was waiting for her and he looked a bit embarrassed about it.

"Morning, Neville," she managed to say, even if she couldn't bring herself to smile. She suspected that she looked quite the sight, her eyes puffy and red, and her face blotchy. "Is Ginny coming?" she asked.

Neville shook his head. "She's actually already left," he said, blushing slightly. "Right now, we're just waiting on Harry."

Hermione stopped breathing, her eyes snapping towards him. "What did you say?"

Neville gave her a confused look. "Umm, we're waiting for Harry?"

"But Harry's not here."

"Of course he is," Neville cautiously said, his facial expression telling her the truth of it. "Harry is here, Hermione. He's upstairs right now."

Hermione barely gave him time to finish his sentence before she suddenly took off. She climbed the stairs two at a time, desperate to get to the boys' seventh-year dorm as quickly as she could. The door was slightly ajar and she plowed straight through it, making it crash against the wall at the extent of its hinges and surprising the only occupant within.

Harry Potter jumped at the sound and even dropped his toothbrush. "Hermione!" he practically shrieked in surprise. "What on earth are you doing?"

Hermione froze in the doorway, too stunned to speak. He was standing right there; right in front of her. "You're here," she eventually said, her voice barely audible.

Harry looked particularly bewildered. "Umm, yes, I am."

"You weren't on the train."

Harry risked a smile. "Oh yeah." He nodded his head, setting his towel down and leaning against one of the posts of his bed after he retrieved his toothbrush. "I had a few things to take care of," he explained, somewhat sheepishly. "Ended up missing the train. I arrived late last night, and I found a human being in my bed, so I slept in here."

Hermione was too full of mixed emotions to register her own blush. "You're here," she repeated.

Now he was confused. "Of course I'm here, Hermione."

"You said you weren't coming back."

Harry looked taken aback at that until realisation hit him. "Oh yeah," he sounded. "I _did_ say that, didn't I?"

"Before you left," she clarified, as if he really needed reminding.

He cleared his throat and stood up straight. "I think it's safe to say that I said _quite_ a few things _before I left_ , Hermione."

"Did you mean it all?"

He heaved a sigh. "I regret the _way_ I said all I said but I did mean it all. I'm sorry it all came out that way but there were just things that I had to say."

Hermione felt numb. "But you came back," she whispered.

"I did." He absently stepped towards her, desperately wanting to hug her, just to hold her. She looked worse than he felt and that was saying a lot. "I came back for myself this time though," he informed her. "I think it's what I needed. To go and come back. I _want_ to be here. There's nowhere else for me right now. I need Hogwarts. I need my friends, and I need _you_ , despite what you might think after our last conversation."

Hermione forced herself not to react to his words. "You're here."

That was the moment that Harry really clicked. "Did you really think I wasn't coming back?" he asked.

Hermione barely had time to nod before he had her wrapped up in his arms, buried against his chest. "You're here," she mumbled against him, tears springing to her eyes. She didn't _want_ to cry but she couldn't help it. He was here. He was _here_.

Harry just held her. He'd never expected her to cry, and he wanted to kick himself for ever giving her yet another reason to. _This_ was the last thing he wanted. He'd been angry, sure; but he'd never wanted to hurt her.

Hermione's tears eventually let up and she sniffed. "Professor McGonagall said you went somewhere."

Harry slowly released her and took a step back. "Before I tell you what I've been up to, answer me this: where is your wand?"

She watched him carefully. "My wand?"

He nodded.

"In my robes. Why?"

"Do you mind handing it over?"

"Why?"

"I'll tell you, I promise. Just, umm, hand it over first."

Hermione gingerly reached into her robes and produced her wand. It was asking a lot of any witch or wizard to give up their wand but she did it without further question. This _was_ Harry Potter. He quickly took it from her and slipped it into the pocket of his own robes.

"I'm a little afraid of you sometimes," he admitted. "And I'm a little worried about how you might react to what I'm about to tell you."

Hermione forgot all about their own troubles as she focused on the slightly guilty look on his face. "Harry, what did you do?"

He offered her a small smile. "Firstly, what _exactly_ did Professor McGonagall tell you?"

"Just that she made a Portkey for you and that you went on a little trip, though she didn't tell me where."

"Okay," he said, sounding a bit relieved that that was all she knew. "Promise you won't get mad."

"What did you do, Harry?"

He looked at her with innocent eyes. "Do you remember, umm, when we got back from Australia, and you were telling me all about your greatest memories of your parents?"

Hermione nodded. "You collected them to view if ever we got our hands on a Pensieve. What does that have to do with anything?"

He didn't respond immediately.

She frowned. "Harry?"

He took a deep breath. "Before I left, I told you that I had plans, right? Well, those plans involved a decision that I made on your birthday, Hermione. I vowed to do everything I could to make sure you didn't have to be like me."

"Like you?"

"An orphan."

Hermione's breath hitched. What did that even mean? What was he trying to tell her? "Harry, what did you do?"

"The goblins helped me locate a Pensieve, and I went to Australia," he admitted, watching her face for any reaction. She just looked deathly pale. "I know that we can't reverse the Memory Charms you performed. We tried everything to restore their memories before, and it didn't work. But then we just left. We gave up, and this isn't what I want for you." He paused. "I visited them and I told them everything."

She blinked. "Everything?" she asked in a whisper.

He nodded. "I explained who I am, and who we are, and what happened, and what you did and why. I showed them your memories of them and I showed them my own memories of you."

Hermione didn't even realise she was crying until she attempted to speak. "You - saw - them?" At his nod, she unleashed a flurry of questions. "Are they okay? How do they look? Are they healthy, happy? Did they freak out? Merlin, did you have to _Obliviate_ them again? Did my father pull a gun on you? They could have had you admitted, Harry! That was irresponsible, and dangerous, super sweet, lovely even, but _completely reckless_."

Harry waited until she was done. "They're _here_ , Hermione."

"What?"

"I brought them home with me," he said, his tone even and controlled. "They're here. They want to meet you, see you, get to know you again."

She blinked in disbelief. "My parents are _here_?"

He nodded, taking a cautious step back towards her. "I set them up at the house last night. That's why I didn't make the train," he explained. "I spoke to Professor McGonagall when I got in and she said that you can go home this weekend. I can make the introductions if you want. Umm, I mean, not that I think you'd want me there or anything, but just to make it less awkward; not that I think it'd be awkward. I just - "

Hermione shut him up by throwing her arms around him and burying him in a signature Hermione hug, clutching at him in a way she hadn't done since before they returned to Hogwarts. It was an emotional hug, coming from a place of desperation.

"Hermione," Harry croaked.

She squeezed tighter for just a moment before she released him and stepped back to look at him. "Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I, umm, I don't know what to say. My parents are here, in England. I was sure I would never see them again." She took a shaky breath. "Thank you, Harry."

"It's nothing, Hermione."

"But why?" she had to ask. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Hermione looked him in the eye, waiting for him to say something more about it. There was a lot he _could_ have said, but he remained mum about it.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," Harry said softly, instead. "It was going to be a dual effort, but I think it's better that I went alone, in case it didn't work out. I wouldn't have wanted to get your hopes up for nothing." He smiled at her. "I didn't actually get you a present, so I'm selfishly hoping that this'll count. Merry Christmas, Hermione."

Hermione sputtered a bit. " _This_ is my Christmas present?"

Harry looked confused. "Umm, I didn't get you anything else, so..."

It was Hermione's turn to look confused, until it dawned on her. He didn't know that Ginny gave her the chapter to read. _Of course_ he didn't know. She wasn't even supposed to know about his feelings, even if they _had_ changed.

But had they?

Really, how could she have not known? Now that she _did_ , she could see it in everything. Even the way he was looking at her right now was a dead giveaway. There was something there; something undeniable. Everything he had ever done for her was to do with love.

And everything she had ever done as well.

"Right," Hermione immediately said. "Thank you."

Harry could tell something was off but he guessed it had to do with the news about her parents. She would probably need time to process everything. Even _he_ was still reeling over the mild success of his trip down south.

"Umm, is Neville still waiting for me?" Harry asked.

Her eyes widened. She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room and down the stairs where Neville was, indeed, still waiting. "Sorry!" Hermione exclaimed.

Neville just shook his head. "It's okay," he said, shrugging. "I figured the two of you had a few things to talk about." He looked at Harry, who discreetly released Hermione's hand. His wounded heart couldn't handle it. "Everything all right?"

He nodded.

Neville said nothing, as he began to lead the way out of the common room, Harry and Hermione following closely behind. They exchanged a few looks, but Hermione was suitable distracted by the news about her parents. _And_ the lack of news about Harry and whatever he was feeling.

Ginny was practically done with breakfast by the time the trio entered the Great Hall. She looked up once, seemed to do a bit of a double-take, before she jumped to her feet and screamed. "Harry!"

"Hey, Gin," he said, smiling at her and waving awkwardly.

"Potter!"

Harry turned around to see Daphne practically running towards him. She didn't slow down as she collided with him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging the living daylight out of him.

She rushed her words, talking right into his ear, loud enough for Ginny, Neville and Hermione to hear. "We talked it out. We kissed. It was amazing. He's great. Thank you." Then she released him and stepped back. "Merlin. Can you tell that I missed you?"

He grinned at her. "I thought you'd still be mad at me."

"What? I was never mad at you, remember?" She winked at him. "And plus, you did me a favour, really. Want me to do the same for you?"

"No!" he rushed, along with Neville and Ginny, which eventually made them all laugh, much to Hermione's confusion. "Don't do that," Harry said. "I have it under control."

"You've been saying that for months," she practically whined.

"I mean it this time."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Daphne said, running her eyes over the Gryffindors. "But, anyway, I hope you all had a great Christmas." She looked at Harry. "See you later for patrol. I'll tell you _everything_." Then she left, heading back to the Slytherin table where she slipped in beside Malfoy and placed a rather enthusiastic kiss on his cheek.

Hermione tugged on Harry's sleeve, drawing his attention away from the two Slytherins. "What was that all about?"

Harry looked at her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. Wow. He'd missed her. "I'll tell you another time," he said, moving to sit down. He was surprised when she sat down as well, right beside him. "Umm, Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Sitting down," she replied easily. "Having breakfast. Why?"

He cleared his throat. "What about Corner?"

Before Hermione could respond, Ginny spilled the beans, practically blurting it out. "They broke up!"

Hermione shot Ginny a look, before she turned her attention to Harry, who looked shocked, and deathly pale.

Neville asked the question that Harry couldn't bring himself to. "When did that happen?"

"A few days before you all left," Hermione admitted, barely whispering as she turned to look at Harry. "It's what I wanted to tell you that night, after your patrol, before... umm..."

Harry forced himself not to react. His heart was literally beating in his throat, and he shot Ginny an accusing look. Why didn't she tell him? All the redhead did was shrug, silently telling him that she didn't know until she got back.

Harry slowly turned to look at Hermione. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, sincerely.

"Did he do something?" Neville added. "Do you need us to beat him up?"

Hermione smiled gratefully, her eyes flicking to Neville. "All this time you're spending with Ginny is making you really violent, isn't it, Neville?"

The wizard turned bright red at that and Ginny merely shrugged before she placed a kiss on Neville's cheek. The wizard immediately dropped his gaze, and Harry and Hermione just chuckled.

"Where's Luna?" Harry asked Ginny, _needing_ to change the subject.

"She was here earlier. Ate so quickly and then ran off somewhere. Must be something important."

"Or just Ron," Harry said with a smirk. "Those two."

Ginny just shook her head. "You should have seen them at Christmas, Hermione. I swear, Mum was even considering starting the wedding plans already." She kept her eyes on Harry. "Where did you go, by the way?"

Harry was relieved to hear that she didn't sound angry with him. "It's Hermione's story to tell," he said simply. "Just know that I'm here now. To stay."

Ginny looked at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione still looked a bit bewildered by Harry's news of her parents. It was too much to comprehend, and she was threatening to burst with all the emotion she was feeling. "You know, Gin, once I wrap my head around it, I'll tell you, I promise," she said.

Ginny looked from Hermione to Harry, and then back to Hermione. "That good, huh?"

Hermione sneaked a look at Harry, absently taking hold of his hand under the table. "Better. So much better."

* * *

If someone were to ask Hermione what she learned in the week leading up to her first weekend at home with her parents, she probably wouldn't be able to tell them. She'd barely even noticed that they had a new DADA professor - a Harriet Stark from somewhere in America - or that Harry was acting differently towards her. He was attentive, sure, but he was definitely hesitant; somewhat unsure _how_ to act around her.

The week passed by in a complete blur and she was so out of it that she couldn't even get irritated about the fact that she still had to endure a Wednesday night patrol with Michael.

If she were being honest, patrols with Michael weren't completely terrible. He'd been sour at first but, when he got over it, they slipped back into relatively easy conversations about schoolwork. It also helped that their Arithmancy project was complete and handed in, so they didn't have to see each other unnecessarily.

Maybe some stars would align and someone would ask for another swap.

True to his word, Harry Potter accompanied her to Oxfordshire an hour after classes let out on that Friday afternoon. Ginny was the one to pack Hermione's overnight bag, because the Head Girl couldn't get her hands to stop shaking. She was going to see her parents. She was going to see two people who, in all intents and purposes, viewed her as a complete stranger.

Hermione had talked to Harry about her worries of hostility, or that they would be disappointed in how she turned out, but he did all he could to assure her that they were proud and definitely eager to meet her. It still amazed her that her parents had come all this way; that they actually believed a teenage boy when he told them that he was a wizard, and their daughter was a witch.

"They knew something was missing," Harry explained as he accompanied her up the driveway of their Oxfordshire house. "Something just didn't feel _right_ about their lives, and now they know that it's this."

She clutched onto his arm tightly. "You're staying, right?"

"Just for dinner," he informed her. "I think the three of you need some time together without this freeloader hanging around," he said, chuckling lightly.

Hermione stopped walking and turned to look at him. There was something that she had to tell him; something important. "I never told you before but, after the War, the only reason this house felt like a home was because of _you_ ," she admitted, needing to say it as much as he needed to hear it.

As yet, they hadn't discussed the contents of his chapter, and she was still convinced that he didn't know that she knew, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he was putting her reunion with her parents above everything that they _weren't_ talking about. The noble wizard that he was.

He started them moving again. "Come on," he said, offering her his arm once more. "I'm sure they're waiting."

"Were they nervous?" she asked, as she fell into step beside him.

"Are you?"

"Deathly."

This time, Harry was the one who brought them to a stop. They'd barely even gone a few steps. He placed his hands on her shoulders and made her look at him. "They'll probably have lots of questions," he said carefully. "There might be a little residual anger, which I know that you expect, but they're here, Hermione. They came. That means something. So it's okay to be nervous, but just remember that they're still your parents, and I know they're going to love you." _I do_.

For a moment, Hermione got lost in the intensity of the green of his eyes. Had he always looked at her like that? "Okay," she whispered.

He gave her an encouraging smile. "Okay."

Harry started to walk again, his arm going around her shoulders as a show of support. Really, this entire week had been a bit of a whirlwind. It was amazing to have her back, really, in any way, and he was determined not to let her get away from him ever again. He just wasn't sure that they _could_ get back to what they were _before_ , or even if he wanted to. It was definitely something that they were going to have to talk about.

When they reached the front door, Hermione made a move to knock, but Harry stopped her.

"Hermione," he said gently, dropping his arm from around her shoulders and looking at her curiously. "We live here, remember?"

She swallowed. He said 'we,' and so easily.

Harry placed his hand on the handle and turned it, opening the door and shuffling her inside. There was something that felt different about the house; something different to what she remembered from before she and Harry returned to Hogwarts. It wasn't a _bad_ different, but different all the same.

"I know," Harry whispered, as if he could read her mind. "I feel it too."

She just blinked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by all that was happening. Was it too late to turn back and try again another time? She was about to ask him that very question when he took hold of her hand and led her through to the kitchen, where they could hear the sounds of life.

 _Life._

 _That_ was what was so different about the house.

The teenagers entered the kitchen to find two adults bustling about, trying to prepare dinner. Harry cleared his throat to get their attention, and then smiled widely when they both froze in their movements to stare at his bushy-haired friend.

"Jane, Michael," Harry said easily, using the names they were all still trying to get used to. "I'd like you to meet your daughter, Hermione Granger."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Hermione couldn't explain how she'd missed it. Because, once she really knew what to look for; it was everywhere. Harry loved her, and she'd been an idiot: a blind, unseeing, self-righteous idiot.

How was it that _everyone_ could see what she so blatantly missed? Really? And she even claimed to know Harry Potter better than anyone else. She was just now seeing that the Harry Potter that she thought she knew, just _wasn't_ him anymore.

The mere fact that her parents - essentially strangers - waited less than ten minutes after Harry left Oxfordshire on Friday night to ask Hermione why the two teenagers hadn't just come clean and divulged the extent of their relationship to the older Grangers was enough to make Hermione choke on her tea.

"What?" Hermione sputtered, looking between her parents in surprise. "No," she said quickly. "Harry and I, no, we're - _no_."

Jane and Michael Granger exchanged a knowing look, and decided that maybe now wasn't the time to have that discussion. They weren't anywhere near comfortable with one another for _that_ conversation and they clearly had so much _more_ to talk about.

The weekend itself was full of questions. Hermione asked about their lives in Australia, and her parents asked about her life in general. They spent hours poring over old family photo albums, with Hermione detailing as many memories as she could. There was so much that they needed to catch up on, and it was definitely going to take more than one weekend in January to do it.

It was odd for Hermione, living with her parents again. It had, in fact, been more than a year and a half since they'd lived together; since they'd even known that they had a daughter. It really was quite a bit to get used to, but they were all trying. And not too hard either. It would have been easy to pretend to be people they weren't, but that didn't seem to be the case, and Hermione thought that it was to do with Harry's presence that first Friday evening.

Just having him there eased the tension, and allowed the Grangers to start a _conversation_. That wasn't to say that there weren't several awkward moments. They were, in fact, _plenty_ , but they all quickly learned to laugh through them. It wasn't as if they could build true relationships in one weekend but it helped that they were all on the same page. It was a wonder, really, what Harry Potter managed to accomplish with his one visit down under. Hermione even started to wonder _just_ what the wizard said to her parents.

As much as Jane tried not to be too much of a mother to the _woman_ she now knew was her daughter; she couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a little conversation with her about a certain green-eyed boy before the weekend was over. It just wasn't in her nature to let it be.

Jane knocked on Hermione's bedroom door on Sunday night, to find her daughter packing her bag for her return to Hogwarts the following morning. Her _daughter_. She was still trying to get used to it. Jane decided to look at it as something like a sudden adoption - except that she wasn't who she thought she was, and her _new_ daughter already had memories of her parents.

It was definitely a work in progress.

"Are you almost done?" Jane asked, once Hermione granted her entry to the bedroom.

"Almost," Hermione answered, still surprised by the fact that she now had a _mother_ to talk to.

Jane glanced about the room, taking it all in. It wasn't the first time that she'd been in the room - she'd spent hours trying to learn all she could about her daughter through her possessions during the first week she and Michael spent in the house - but it was the first time with Hermione in it.

Hermione eyed her mother curiously, recognising the woman's approach. Even though Jane Granger was a different woman; she really wasn't. "Was there something you wished to discuss?" Hermione asked gently, stilling her movements and giving her mother her full attention.

Jane offered her a genuine smile. "I take it we've been a situation such as this one before?"

Hermione swallowed. "If you're about to ask me about Harry, I'd have to say no, we've never been in a situation like this," she said truthfully. "Things were a little up in the air before I sent you away. We've never really talked _boys_."

Jane blinked. "Because of the War?"

"Partly," Hermione admitted, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't, umm, extremely interested in boys while in school. I mean, I was _very_ focused on scoring well and making sure that my best friend didn't die." She chuckled lightly, humourlessly, even shaking her head at her own actions. "I suppose my obsession with Harry Potter's survival should have been enough of a sign for me."

Jane also sat down, just to Hermione's right. "I might have noticed that there are boy's clothes in the laundry hamper," she said. " _And_ the guest room looked rather lived in."

Despite herself, Hermione blushed. "He lived here with me," she confessed. "During the summer. Neither of us could handle being at the Burrow - that's the Weasley home - so I came here, and then Harry followed. It was different, sure, but he has this way of making you feel safe just by being around. It felt like I was truly home when he was here."

Jane waited a moment, before glancing around the bedroom. "There were boy's clothes in _here_ as well."

Hermione dropped her gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed as heat rose up her neck. She didn't think that lying to her mother would be productive and, really, maybe Jane could offer her advice on how to deal with the revelations of the chapter Ginny had given her. "We slept in the same bed sometimes," Hermione admitted, deciding on full disclosure. "There were nightmares and we were helping each other through them."

Jane nodded thoughtfully. "Have the nightmares stopped?"

"I've been distracted enough," she admitted solemnly. "I'm afraid that I've been setting aside a lot of the things that I've needed to deal with in favour of, well, less demanding things."

Jane frowned, clearly not understanding what her daughter was saying.

Hermione tried to think of a way to explain things without _actually_ explaining, but couldn't think of anything. So, taking a deep breath, she decided with the complete truth. "I love him," she said seriously, surprising them both. It was the first time she'd said it out loud, and it was terrifying. She fell silent for a long while, her heart starting to beat that bit faster. "I mean, I suppose I've always loved him in some way, but I _love_ love him."

"How long?"

"A while."

"But...?"

She sighed. "He's always been my best friend," she explained. "Sure, we disagree and we fight, but we've never disregarded each other or been overly cynical with our disdain before. It's just who we are. Sometimes we don't even have to talk to each other to know what the other is thinking." She took a breath. "I just, I didn't think that _I_ could ever make him truly happy."

Jane watched the emotions play out on Hermione's face, and she automatically reached for the teenager's closest hand.

Hermione stared down at their hands in wonder, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. This was her mother. She was talking to her _mother_. "I was convinced that someone else was better suited for him," the teenager continued. "Someone would come in, love him, make him happy, and there would be no use for me anymore. It was my own fears of losing him that pushed him away, I know."

Jane frowned again.

"Something strange happened with him; something I didn't understand at the time. I know what it was now but, at the time, I thought he'd just figured out that I was in the way when it came to him finding love, and he was trying to figure out how to let me down gently." She smiled absently. "I was such an idiot."

Jane was desperately trying to follow the story, but she was burning with her own questions.

" _And_ there was this boy."

Suddenly, she understood. "Oh."

"Don't get me wrong; I did like him. A lot, actually." She sighed. "But it could never be love, you know? And there was a difference between the way _he_ needed me and the way Harry needed me. I can't explain _that_ , but I know that, if it came down to it; the boy would have asked me to choose. He would have asked me to pick between him and Harry, and everyone had to know that it was never going to be a competition. I mean, I essentially picked Harry over Ron during the Hunt. I practically picked Harry over you and Dad." She had to stop talking to compose herself. "But I broke him, Mum. By trying to distance myself from the impending heartbreak, I hurt Harry in ways he should never have been hurt.

"He's been through so much already, and I was supposed to be _helping_ him, not making it worse. I thought that the fact that we were so reliant on each other was a hinderance, and I didn't want to hold him back. But I was wrong. I misread everything, and I've been an idiot.

"Because, just the other day, I learned that he loves me too."

Jane shook her head. " _I_ could have told you that."

Hermione couldn't help her laugh, and she was surprised by the flood of emotion threatening to unleash itself from within her. "He's too good for me," she said quietly. "I've been horrible to him. Absolutely terrible. But I see it now. I see it in his eyes, in the way he looks at me, like there's nobody else in this world. Ginny says that he always looks at me in wonder, which is so embarrassing and flattering all at the same time."

"You should hope that look never fades," Jane commented with a small smile.

"I just, well, I don't know what to do now," she said, sighing. "He doesn't know that I know, and I'm not sure if it's too forward for _me_ to tell _him_ how _I_ feel after the way I've treated him, and after this entire situation. I mean, he was mightily angry with me, and yet he still did this thing for me; this incredible, thoughtful, wonderful thing of reuniting me with my parents. He did _that_ when he was about done with me, so I can only imagine what it'll be like to..." she trailed off. "What should I do?" she suddenly asked, _needing_ answers.

Jane was momentarily surprised by the question but she recovered quickly enough. "Well, I do think that you need to talk to him," she said. "From what I've deduced, the time that he started to act strange was about the time that he was starting to figure out how he really felt about you, and you started to pull away?"

Hermione nodded. "Based on what he wrote to me."

"Huh?"

"Well, not to me _exactly_ ," she said. "It's just this piece of writing he did, detailing his thoughts about coming to terms with how and why he loves me. It's quite amazing actually, heartbreaking as well, but so very _Harry_."

"And then you broke his heart by dating another boy?"

"I didn't know," she defended automatically. Then she sighed. "But, essentially, yes."

"And proceeded to distance yourself to save you both from what you were certain would happen when _he_ found someone who he would love?"

Hermione swallowed, and then nodded.

"But he's still head over heels for you, and he's probably already forgiven you because, honestly, I don't think I've ever encountered someone with as kind a heart as that boy," she stated. "Honestly, Hermione, if you don't get it together and confront him about all these suppressed and hidden feelings, then, well, I'll..." she hesitated; "I'll have to think of a suitable threat, because I'm not yet convinced our relationship is where it needs to be for me to be forceful enough."

Hermione laughed lightly. "Noted."

"Talk to him tomorrow," Jane pressed.

Hermione nodded. "Tomorrow."

The obsessive planner in Hermione spent the better part of that Sunday night coming up with and practicing what she wanted to say to Harry but, come Monday morning, it was all for naught. Harry Potter wasn't even in the Castle.

Hermione woke up early, bid her parents goodbye and Apparated to Hogsmeade. The ground was still covered in snow so the walk up to the Castle was a little tiring but she couldn't wait to see Harry. Only, he wasn't in his Head Boy room or in the seventh-year dormitory. Hermione only found out later that Harry was excused from classes to attend an early morning meeting with Kingsley. _Alone_.

Meetings like these tended to make her nervous, mainly because Harry never divulged just what they were about when he returned. She was convinced they did more harm than good to the young wizard, but who was she to bring that up to the newest Minister of Magic?

"You're antsy about something," Ginny pointed out during lunch in the Great Hall. "I already told you that he'll be back by at least three o'clock."

"It's not that," Hermione said dismissively.

That definitely got the redhead's attention and she set down her fork to question the brunette further. "Okay... Is it about your parents then? I know you said that it went well earlier, but something definitely has you acting odd today, or am I just imagining it?"

Hermione sighed, finally abandoning her own food, which she was really just pushing around her plate with her fork. "It's not about my parents either," she confessed, casting a look down the table. Neville and Luna were sitting further down the table, concentrating _a little too_ hard on the Herbology assignment that they were discussing. "I'm just, well, I - " she paused. "Three o'clock, you said?"

Ginny grinned at her friend, reading the situation for what it was. _Finally_. "What do you have planned?"

"What?"

"You're going to _talk_ to him, aren't you?"

When Hermione didn't respond, Ginny just laughed.

"Seriously, Hermione," she said, leaning forward. "Do you have any idea how long we've all been waiting for either one of you to get your act together?"

She frowned. "Remind me again, why didn't anybody tell me?"

Ginny shrugged. "I think you already know the answer to that," she said, huffing in mild annoyance. "He's too bloody noble, and he was always going to put your happiness - and your recovery - above his own. And plus, didn't you make him promise not to interfere if ever _love_ presented itself?"

Hermione rubbed her face for a moment. Ginny was right, of course. About everything. "If you must know, Gin, I don't exactly have _anything_ planned. We're just going to talk."

Ginny shook her head. "No, no no," she said quickly. "You have to sweep him off his feet. You literally have to romanticise the pants off that wizard," she said sternly. "He's had to endure weeks of you and Michael. Merlin, Hermione, you owe that boy about a billion make-out sessions."

Hermione just stared at her with wide eyes.

Ginny couldn't help her bark of laughter. "Oh Merlin."

Hermione swallowed thickly.

"Why do you look so shocked?" she asked. "You do know that, whatever you plan on saying, you're probably going to end up kissing Harry Potter, right?"

If Hermione were being entirely honest with herself, she hadn't actually thought past revealing to him that she _knew_ how he _maybe still_ felt and that she felt the same way. She'd never considered what came _after_ , and it threw her for a loop.

Ginny buried her face in her hands. "Oh dear Merlin."

Hermione took a deep breath. She reasoned that she would have to tackle one thing at a time. Who was to say that Harry would even respond positively to whatever she intended to say to him? What did she even intend to say? Suddenly, everything she'd rehearsed disappeared from her mind. Kissing Harry?

She spent the better part of her DADA lesson trying and failing to recall the words she'd decided on the night before. Something about 'I'm sorry and I love you.' Something more?

No such luck.

So, it was an entirely unprepared Hermione who encountered the dashing Harry Potter in the Entrance Hall of the Castle, dressed smartly in his House of Potter robes. It wasn't that she was waiting for him, not really; she just happened to be in the vicinity when he arrived.

Harry smiled at the sight of her, his eyes shining with something she couldn't recognise. "You're back," he stated, eyeing her up and down like he used to before, well, _everything_. When he deemed her suitably unhurt, he started to talk. Well, he started to _ramble_ , which was actually quite adorable. "How was the weekend? Did you guys get on all right? Sorry I wasn't around this morning; Kingsley had some things that I had to take care of, hence the attire. Daphne said I looked quite fetching, but we all know - "

She cut him off, surprised that _she_ ever had to do such a thing. "I know," she said simply.

He frowned. "You know?"

"I _know_."

He blinked, clearly still confused. "You know what?"

She steeled herself. "Ginny gave me the chapter, Harry," she said slowly, purposefully. " _I know_."

For a moment, Harry Potter looked beyond panicked, and she could practically see him running through every possible way he could escape this conversation, but then he surprised her by taking a deep, calming breath; puffing out his chest and relaxing his facial expression.

"So you know then," he said calmly. "Well, I'll be the first to admit that this was never how you were supposed to find out, so don't be surprised when you find Ginny out on the pitch running an endless number of Quidditch drills." He took another breath. "You don't look horrified, which is a definite positive, so I'll just say what I need to say and then, well, we'll move on from there." There was no hint of a question in his tone. In fact, _he_ sounded as if he'd practiced this several times.

"I love you," he said, saying it out loud for the first time and liking the sound of it. "I have for some time now, and I haven't told you for several reasons that I believe are unimportant right now. I love you, and I want to be with you. I want to be able to hold your hand because I can, while we're walking down a corridor or sitting at the dinner table. I don't want to worry if people see; I _want_ them to see, and _know_ that I'm yours and only yours. I want to be able to hold you, to comfort you without worrying about what rumour we might start. I want to be able to look at you whenever I want to, to kiss you, to hug you, _to be with you_. These are things I _want_ , with you.

"They are, however, not things that I _need_ ," he continued. "What I need is my best friend and, if that is all you have to offer, then I'm okay with that. Just, please, you know, just don't leave me again, okay?" His voice dropped quite low, his latent fears getting the better of him. "I won't profess to know what you feel, Hermione, but you have to know that I mean it when I tell you that what I want and what I need is _always_ going to be you."

Harry was done. She could tell. He just stood there and waited for her to say something, anything.

But Hermione Granger was stumped. She'd had a vague idea of what he might say, but it still surprised her. He was so sure, and it terrified her. There was, she realised, a true difference between reading something and hearing it said out loud.

"Oh Merlin," Harry suddenly said, stepping forward. "Please don't cry."

She seemed surprised by that, but that paled in comparison to the sudden realisation that there were, in fact, tears running down her cheeks. She quickly wiped at them and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding embarrassed.

"It's okay," he said automatically.

"No, it's not," she countered gently. "None of what I did was okay, and you've been so nice and caring this past week, and I haven't even apologised or said thank you, and I've been a horrible friend, and it's definitely _not_ _okay_."

He just stared at her.

"Don't quote me on this, all right, but I've been a royal idiot."

Harry couldn't help his grin.

"Don't say anything," she warned teasingly. "It just, well, it was all me, okay? _Me_. Not you. Okay?"

The humour disappeared from his handsome features and Hermione started to wonder if she'd said something wrong. But then he suddenly drew her into a tight hug. He didn't release her for a good minute, and then he was blushing like a schoolboy.

"So, I kind of have something to ask you," she said, thinking back on what Ginny said.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm listening."

She bit her bottom lip. "I've been instructed to sweep you off your feet," she began, and his smile was back. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely sure _how_ to do that, given that I don't think I'm really _ready_ yet. There are things I feel, that I want to tell you about, but I'm still figuring some other things out as well, and I know I have to make things up to you. I want us to be friends again. Better friends than we've been lately."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"But then I want more as well, and it seems that you do too." She took a deep breath. "So, well, I thought, umm, Harry Potter, we could... umm, will you do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Harry's jaw slackened in surprise. "Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you asking me out?"

"I am," she said without hesitation. "So... will you?"

Harry waited quite a while before he responded. "I'll have to check my schedule," he said, unable to stop himself from grinning. Merlin, his heart was thundering in his chest. "See, I'm something of a celebrity, and I have _so many_ obligations as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. I just don't know if I'll have time."

This time, Hermione was the one to initiate their hug, her resistance giving in. She practically flung herself at him, squeezing him tight enough to hurt. How could she have ever thought she could survive even a semblance of a life when he wasn't her number one?

"Hermione," he complained, squeaking from the force of her hold on him.

She immediately released him. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"And yes," he said. "I'd be honoured to accompany you to Hogsmeade."

"Splendid."

Harry just laughed as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and started them on their way to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione placed her own arm around his waist, her heart beating wildly. Everything was changing and, really, she felt calmer than she ever thought she would.

As they walked, she was once again reminded of how well they just fit together. She should have figured out ages ago that that mere fact _meant_ something. They were made for each other, she was sure of it.

Because Harry loved her.

And he'd _told_ her.

This changed everything, and still nothing at all.

* * *

"There's that smile again."

Harry dropped his head to hide his blush. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled.

Hermione couldn't resist dipping her own head to look at his face. Really, she couldn't fault him when he mentioned his desire to be able to look at her whenever he wanted to. It was somewhat grounding always having some kind of beacon to turn to. To her, he was the reason the entire War was worth it. She knew that he would trade himself for all those that they lost, which made her love him just that bit more, even though it was a heartbreaking truth.

"Stop looking at me like that," he grumbled.

"Like what?"

"Like you know something that I don't."

She grinned at him. "But I do," she teased. "I always do."

Harry's face grew thoughtful and it looked like he wanted to ask her something important, but he decided against it. Instead, he shot her a smile, before he dropped his head and resumed his work on Ancient Runes.

She wanted to tell him that it was okay for him to ask her things, but the situation felt too... delicate? Sensitive, maybe? _Volatile_. She sometimes caught things in his eyes, emotions that he wouldn't want her to see: anger, confusion, wonder.

Hermione felt as if they were in something like limbo. They weren't strangers, but they really weren't where they both wanted to be, and she didn't know how to talk about that without taking steps back. Would they end up fighting again? She _never_ wanted to fight with him the way they had before Christmas. She just never wanted to fight with him _ever again_.

In the time since she'd revealed that she knew about the chapter, she'd tortured herself over _what_ to tell him about her own feelings. There was this whole upcoming date that was starting to weigh on her. On them both.

She couldn't help thinking that the date was putting pressure on them both. Here they were, placing all this importance on this one date, and she was worried about what would happen if it didn't go well. What would they do then?

Harry suddenly looked up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything," she immediately said.

His brow furrowed. "Uh, it's about Ancient Runes."

"Oh."

"Hermione?"

"What do you want to know?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Hermione," he said again. "Tell me what's wrong."

She blinked.

"We have to talk about things, remember," he told her. "That was part of our problem. We stopped talking to each other." Though, he didn't say that they stopped talking to each other because she started talking to Michael, and he was forced to talk to Daphne. He was such a hypocrite, telling her to talk to him when he couldn't even tell her what was on _his_ mind.

"This is weird, isn't it?" Hermione said.

"What?"

"All of it," she elaborated. "I'm feeling all of this _happiness_ , but it's coming hand-in-hand with a lot anxiety. It's confusing, and I'm worried."

"That the bubble will burst?"

She nodded.

"That we won't work?"

She hesitated for a moment, and his face fell. "I have never wanted anything more than I want this, Harry," she said strongly, needing him to know. "I just, uh - " she stopped. "I want you to know that I'm in this. I'm terrified, sure, but I want to be with you. I do. I just don't want to jump into this when I know that there are things that I still need to work through. We both do."

He suddenly looked nervous. "Hermione?"

"I love you too," she said, and his jaw dropped in surprise. If the topic of conversation weren't so serious, Hermione might have found it amusing. But this was serious. "I love you too, Harry, and I want you to know that I'm in this."

Harry just stared at her.

Hermione leaned into him and softly kissed his cheek. "I love you too," she whispered, needing to say it again. "We'll figure the rest out."

Slowly, a smile crept across his face.

She cleared her throat, sitting up straight. "Now, what was it that you wanted to ask me?"

"You don't seriously expect me to focus on my homework after that, do you?" he asked, positively grinning now. "You just told me you love me. I can't just go back to Ancient Runes after that. Nothing in the world right now is as important as this moment right here."

She just smiled at him. "What about the other stuff I said?"

"There's no pressure here, Hermione," he said gently. "We're not in any rush either. We survived the War; we're here, we're alive." He took hold of her hand under the table, entwining their fingers and squeezing gently. He didn't think that either of them were particularly ready for hand-holding _on top of the table_ , though they were definitely headed in the right direction. "We have the rest of our lives."

Hermione liked the sound of that. She loved the idea of a 'rest of her life' with Harry Potter.

"Because, really, I'm convinced that, now that we've survived all that we have; we'll end up dying in our sleep at the ripe, old age of four hundred." He leaned in to whisper into her ear. "Which are all years that I intend to spend at your side."

Hermione couldn't help her blush. He was entirely too good at this.

He cleared his throat. "So, this homework of mine..."

She laughed. "Are you now sufficiently distracted?"

"I'm always distracted, Hermione. Have you met yourself?"

She shook her head. He _really_ was too good at this. Any girl would be lucky to have him. The very thought gave her pause. She had to remember that Harry wanted _her_. _She_ was that lucky girl and, really, it was about time she accepted it. This wonderful, sometimes infuriating boy was _hers_.

If that wasn't earth-moving enough.

This time, when she asked about his question on Ancient Runes, effectively changing the subject; Harry let her.

That was it, wasn't it? They _did_ have the rest of their lives. There was no rush.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"So, let me get this straight: you and Granger are actually going on a _date_?"

Harry couldn't hold back his grin. He'd half-expected Daphne to react this way, but it was bloody brilliant to see. The normally stoic and painfully sarcastic Slytherin looked like she was about to jump for joy at the very prospect of an actual date between him and Hermione.

"Like a real, bona fide date?"

Harry nodded.

"But...? Since when?" she asked, blinking in slight disbelief. "And why am I finding out only now?"

Harry had the decency to look a bit ashamed. It was already Thursday, and he'd been sitting on this bit of information since Monday. "Well, we didn't tell _anyone_ ," he explained. "I'm sorry, but I'm kind of tired of being the talk of the Castle, you know?"

"But it's _me_ ," she countered, sounding a little hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm telling you now."

"You're only telling me because you want my help with something," she pointed out, clearly showing him how much she did know him. "Do you come seeking my sneaky Slytherin advice, huh?"

"Actually," he said, bringing them to a stop as they patrolled a corridor near the West Tower of the Castle. "I was kind of hoping for your _girl_ advice."

That definitely piqued her interest. "Go on."

He blushed. "Well, you see, Hermione and I have kind of reverted back to the way things were _before_ ," he explained. "Before my feelings changed, and before... Corner."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I haven't yet decided," he said thoughtfully as he got them moving down the corridor again. "We were already quite, umm, close before, but now that we're, umm, going to date... It's just different, and I'm, well, I'm worried," he stuttered.

She eyed him for a moment, trying to figure out what he was trying to tell her. "Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?"

"I don't know; are we?"

"Harry," she said gently. "Have you and Granger kissed yet?"

He looked away. "Look, before we came back to Hogwarts, we, well, we were _close_ , without actually, you know, being _close_ close, so it's really weird now, because there's no real difference, is there? And if there is, which is probably all that kissing stuff, it's just not, well, coming as naturally as I thought it would, given how comfortable we are with each other already."

Daphne spent a full minute thinking about what he'd said, trying and failing to come up with a suitable reason for the Gryffindors' mutual hesitation. "Have the two of you talked?"

He blinked. "Talked?"

"Like talk _talked_? About your stupid nobility, about Corner, about the fight you had... all of it?" Daphne read his silence for what it was and shook her head. "It's no use pretending all of that didn't happen, Harry. Of course it's going to be weird if there's so much still left to be discussed." She gently nudged him with her elbow as they walked. "Look at me and Draco. We talked for ages, _and then_ we kissed. And kind of haven't stopped since."

Harry made a disgusted sound, but he was smiling. "God, a happy Daphne Greengrass is so bloody annoying."

She glared at him. "I promise that I can go back to being sufficiently bitter if required," she said, lifting her chin in defiance. "I _am_ still a cunning Slytherin, even though I am literally hopelessly in love."

This time, Harry actually shuddered. "Easy there, Greengrass," he said derisively. "I'm still getting used to the idea of you and Malfoy."

"Get used to it fast," she said. "I'm still waiting on that illustrious double date."

"And Malfoy would really go for that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because I can imagine that he's probably not too happy with these patrols you and I are going on."

She shrugged. "What does Granger think of them?"

"I suspect she's less critical of you and me, than I am of her and Corner," he confessed. "But this is as much about trust as it is about forgiveness and reconciliation, isn't it?"

"Just another thing you two Lions need to talk about."

He sighed heavily.

Suddenly, she got a mischievous glint in her eye that actually worried him. "Or... I could use my cunning Slytherin ways and engineer another patrol swap for our upcoming meeting."

Harry looked torn.

"Oh, don't do that," she chided gently, stopping their walk again. "This thing we had going on was always temporary," she reminded him. "I promise I'll still be your friend. Merlin knows what crazy shit you would get yourself into without me."

He laughed. "You know, you're the one to keep me out of trouble, and Hermione's the one to save me once I've got myself into it."

"Imagine how different our school years would have been if we'd made friends earlier," she said, her amusement trailing off to something serious. "It would have been really different, wouldn't it?"

"Probably."

"But what's past is past, Potter," she said decisively and she started down the corridor again. "Now, please can we catch some miscreants? I find that I'm in the mood for handing out detentions."

Harry could only follow, his head shaking in the process.

It wasn't until much later that he was finally able to have that elusive _talk_ with Hermione, because she was actually waiting for him. Not on the couch in the common room, but rather on his bed in his Head Boy's room, reading a book.

Harry's heart literally stuttered at the sight of her. This was his life now. _This_ was what he could now come home to.

"Hey, rule-breaker," he said, getting her attention as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Hermione waited a moment as she finished off her sentence, memorised the page number, set the book aside and gave him her undivided attention.

For Harry, being her sole focus was both disarming and overwhelming. Just for those moments, knowing that the entire world was less important than he was, made him nervous and excited at the same time.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm in here," she said. "There are things that I think we need to talk about."

He frowned, but said nothing as he moved to sit down on the edge of his bed. He watched as she crossed her legs Indian-style and gave him a curious look, as if she were reading his mind.

"Did Ginny talk to you too?" she asked.

"What?"

It was her turn to frown. "Well, it's just, you know, you don't look all that surprised by the fact that we need to talk."

"Because I'm not," he said truthfully. "We _do_ need to talk."

For a moment, she looked contemplative before she smiled knowingly. "So it was Daphne then?"

Harry just returned her smile, before he lay down on his back and looked at her. "As I'm sure you've noticed," he said; "I'm kind of useless at this whole, umm, relationship thing."

"I don't think that's true," she said easily. "In fact, I think you'll be really good at relationships. You're attentive, caring, loving and so true. I've always harboured this thought that you were born to be a husband and father, the undisputed head of your family, that you'll protect with every fibre of your being."

Harry was forced to look away from her, suddenly embarrassed by his own blush. That was a rather large thought that she had.

Hermione took pity on him, and used her fingers on his chin to turn his head back to look at her. "Hello," she said with a smile. She was tempted to tell him that she'd missed him, but decided to hold her tongue. He'd only been gone a few hours. What was wrong with her?

"Now, what is it that you wanted to talk about?" he asked.

Hermione visibly steeled herself for what was to come. "Well, I thought maybe we could start by talking about Michael."

At the sound of that, Harry sat up and turned his body to face her. He took a deep breath, wrung his fingers together and then offered her a small smile. "Okay then. Let's do this."

And so they did.

Hermione detailed all she'd felt, from the moment she'd found him with Emily in the common room, to allowing herself to _see_ other boys, all the way to the realisation of how much she'd messed everything up with him. She made sure that Harry understood that she'd really liked Michael, and that she'd never used the Ravenclaw as a distraction, or as a way to hurt Harry.

 _That was just a bonus_.

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, and they were forced to backtrack to discuss his feelings on the entire Michael situation. He explained the hurt, the constant fear that he would lose her for good, and the anger. There was a part of him that was still terribly angry. She'd left him. She'd forced him to face his recovery without her, and he wasn't quite over that yet.

Hermione continued to apologise, and Harry asked her to stop. He was past the apologies now. He wanted explanations. He wanted truth.

He told her that he'd felt _alone_. Sure, he'd been surrounded by people, but she was always number one. She was his go-to person; his _person_. She'd left him to deal with Ron by himself; to make sure that George was keeping an eye on their mutual best friend's recovery.

She'd made him feel unwanted. She'd made him feel like a burden.

Hermione swore to herself that she wouldn't cry, but she was unable to stop herself when his voice caught, thick with emotion. She didn't move to hug him, though her grip on his arm did tighten. She was tempted to apologise again but she stopped herself. He didn't want apologies.

Explanations. He wanted an explanation.

"As someone who claims to know you as well I do; I missed it. I didn't allow myself to _look_ , because I was terrified of what I was going to see." She took a moment to try to find the words that she needed. "I was afraid of looking to you and finding you looking somewhere else. I had a feeling I knew what it would feel like, and I was selfish, Harry. I was protecting myself against the heartbreak I _knew_ would come.

"I didn't realise - I guess I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing based on what Healer Patrick said about our co-dependence. We needed to be separate for - " her voice caught. "Despite everything that's happened, I think that maybe this _was_ something that we needed."

His eyes widened.

"Wait, just hear me out," she said, her fingers tightening around his arm, holding him in place in case he was going to flee. "I'm not saying that any of this pain was worth it, but I do think we needed to separate to come back to each other."

Harry looked pensive. "Did it work?" he asked.

"I learned a lot," she said quietly.

"Did it work?" he asked again.

She looked away for a moment, absently pulling her hands back, before meeting his gaze. "I don't want to spend another day going through any of this without you," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I had to learn what it was like to know I don't want it."

"But you _chose_ it?"

"I tried to _accept_ it," she returned. "I've been failing since the moment I started."

"And Hermione Granger doesn't like failing," he said, trying to inject amusement into his tone but it fell flat.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you said to stop apologising but - "

Harry reached for her hands. "But what, Hermione?"

"I wish you hadn't forgiven me this easily," she admitted, absently squeezing his fingers. "I wish you'd stayed angry for longer; that you'd stopped doing nice things for me. My actions hurt you, and I - "

"Do you think that you deserve to hurt as well?" he asked, his eyes wide and concerned. "Hermione, no," he said, shaking his head. "Please don't say that. I don't want that. You shouldn't want that either."

"But I - "

"Stop," he said, almost snapping. "Stop," he repeated, a bit calmer. "I _do_ forgive you, Hermione. I forgive your fears and I forgive the way they manifested. This is what we do for each other. We _understand_ each other, our successes and failures, our limitations and boundaries. I don't want you to feel the way that I was hurting. I don't want anyone to."

"Harry," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes again. "How do we - how do _I_ just let it be? How do I ignore that there's this tally in my head where I feel as if I have to make up for all that I did to get us to this point? How do I just let it go without you evening the score?"

"Stop it," he said again. "Just. Okay. What do you want us to do then?" he asked. "What should I do? Tell me what you want me to do."

"I don't want you to _do_ anything, Harry."

He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what they were supposed to do. Her hands were warm in his and he never wanted to let go. Was this too soon? Was that what she's saying?

"Is this what you said you have to work through?" he asked timidly.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to push you away," she said. "I don't want to lose you."

"Who said that you're going to lose me?" he asked seriously. "I'm not going anywhere, all right? Why would you think I would?"

She sighed. "It's been weird," she said. "I worry that it'll get _too_ weird, and I just - I don't want to mess this up for us."

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

He shook his head. "I've waited _years_ , Hermione," he said. "I didn't know it then, but I know it now. I told you that there's no pressure. I _told_ you that we can go slowly. I'd wait as long as you need."

"But I don't want to make you wait."

"But it's what you need," he said heatedly; "and I want you to know what I'm going to give you exactly what you need, whether you choose to accept it or not."

Hermione tugged on his hands, forcing him to shift closer to her. "I don't deserve you," she said, sliding her hands up his arms and over his biceps until they came to rest on his shoulders.

"No you don't," he whispered; "but _I_ deserve _you_."

She smiled softly. "I both agree and disagree with that statement."

Harry's hands lay limp at his sides until he willed them to move, wanting to touch her as well. Without wasting a moment more, he lay his palms on her thighs, finding the sudden hitch in her breathing wonderful.

"Slowly," Hermione said.

"Whatever speed you want," he said.

Her hands shifted from his shoulders, her fingers moving to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Her eyes met his, steady and strong. The green drew her in, calming her; easing her, and exciting her. "I like this speed," she said.

"I do too."

"Good," she whispered, before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "But I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"You have to tell me what you need as well," she said carefully. "Don't be afraid to tell me what you need."

"I need you," he breathed. "Just you."

She kissed his other cheek. "I need you too," she murmured against his skin. "Just you."

"That can be arranged," he whispered.

"Good."

He just nodded, absently wrapping his arms around her. "It always will be."

* * *

Harry had to admit that it was surprisingly easy to keep his upcoming date with Hermione out of the school gossip circuit. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he wasn't about to complain. Merlin forbid Harry Potter was allowed to spend time with a girl without the great big world knowing about it.

It helped that the weekend wasn't an actual school Hogsmeade weekend but, being Seventh-Years, they were allowed the freedom to visit the little town on any weekend they wished.

Harry thought that his talk with Hermione helped but he still felt nervous. Ginny tried to remind him that it was just Hermione; that he had nothing to worry about but, even if he could somehow accept what she was saying, this _was_ the beginning of what he hoped would be the rest of his life.

Despite whatever reservations he did have, the last thing he thought was that the date would be so awkward. Sure, he'd expected _some_ awkwardness, but they could barely look at each other. They'd been _fine_ at breakfast, casually joking with Ginny and Neville about things he couldn't even recall, but now the words just wouldn't come. What was wrong with him?

Maybe it was because she looked beautiful.

No. She always looked this way but this was really the first time that he was allowed to _look_ so blatantly. He wasn't even afraid of being caught staring because she was looking too. It wasn't even as if he was wearing anything out of the ordinary, because it was meant to be casual.

But the conversation was anything but.

He just didn't know what to say.

Eventually, Hermione started them talking about Ancient Runes - it seemed the topic with which she was most comfortable - and the tension seemed to settle.

Slowly, they both grew into the conversation, welcoming tangents and discussing all sorts of topics but feeling grounded by the fact that they could return to the talk of school while the other patrons in the Three Broomsticks simply fell away into the background. Really, it felt as if it was just the two of them in existence.

Once they'd eaten, Hermione surrendered to allowing Harry to pay for their meal. He was a real gentleman about, really. They did everything in slow motion, simultaneously rising to their feet and leaving in silence. Hermione took hold of his hand and allowed herself to be led out of the bar and into the street, a happy smile on her face.

His hand was warm in hers and it was the type of warmth that spread through her arm straight to her chest. It was a day of learning for them both, and she wanted to remember every second of this day. With him.

Always with him.

"Oh no," he suddenly said, forcing her to look at him.

"What?"

"Two o'clock," he whispered, dropping his head. "Just know that I am so sorry for this, okay?"

"For what?" she asked, but he needn't have responded because she figured it out a moment later.

"Oh, look who we have here," a voice said, and Hermione's head snapped to the right.

Harry's hand immediately tightened around hers.

Daphne practically skipped towards them, Malfoy following behind, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there in that moment.

"Well, well, well," Daphne said, sidling up the Gryffindor pair. "Fancy seeing you two here."

"Daphne," Harry ground out, his eyes flicking from the girl in front of him to the girl at his side. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Well, _we_ are on our way back to the Castle; what are you two doing?"

"Just walking," Harry answered.

"Back to the Castle?" she asked hopefully.

"Uh," he started, trying to think of a suitable excuse.

"Great," she said happily, jumping slightly. "Let's walk together." At that, she tugged on his arm, which brought Hermione along owing to their joined hands.

Malfoy had no choice but to follow, though begrudgingly.

Harry tried to look at Hermione, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Daphne in slight alarm, clearly overwhelmed by the Slytherin's lack of boundaries.

"Greengrass," Harry grumbled, clearly put out.

"Potter?" Daphne whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I've got this," she said. But, before he could ask her what she was talking about, she was speaking again. "Now go play nice with my person while I take care of yours."

Daphne grabbed hold of the back of his jacket, invariably slowing him down to a stop. Without prompting, Harry and Hermione released each other's hands, realising that a mutual separation was needed.

Harry threw her an apologetic look before Daphne shoved him, getting him moving forward. He also didn't miss the look she shot Malfoy's way, and the two boys had no choice but to walk ahead, as awkward as it was.

The only thing they had in common was Daphne Greengrass.

And death, Harry guessed, but he wasn't sure that he was comfortable talking to Draco Malfoy about either of those things. So he remained silent and tried his best not to think about the conversation going on behind him or the hell he was going to be in when Hermione got a hold of him.

"So I hear that you and Harry haven't yet kissed," Daphne said, sidling up to the Gryffindor and giving her a genuine smile.

Despite Hermione's obvious alarm, she managed to shoot a dirty look at Harry's back, as he walked in front of the two girls with Malfoy. She supposed _that_ was enough punishment for essentially telling a stranger their business.

But then, Daphne Greengrass was decidedly _not_ a stranger to Harry. In fact, they seemed to be quite good friends, which meant that Hermione was just going to have to get used to the charming Slytherin.

"Oh, don't worry," Daphne said, noticing the daggers Hermione was sending the green-eyed wizard. "He didn't explicitly tell me anything. He's too noble for that... but I do consider myself a bit of an expert in this, say, subject." Daphne leaned in closer, almost bumping Hermione with her hip. "It's obvious to me that the two of you have yet to jump from really _close_ friends to... potential lovers."

The look of horror on Hermione's face was enough to make Daphne cackle. "I am so not discussing any of this with you," Hermione finally said, her heart rate rising dangerously.

"If not me, who?" she asked. "Weasley?"

Hermione resolutely said nothing.

Daphne sighed. "Okay, listen here, Granger," she said testily. "Just go for it, okay? It'll probably be a bit awkward because, well, you're friends, but then the hormones will kick in and you literally won't be able to keep your hands to yourself. _Trust me_."

The way she said the words gave Hermione pause. It was as if she knew something that Hermione didn't - which was definitely a possibility - but it was as if that _something_ was about Harry, and that didn't sit well with Hermione.

It wasn't until they were back in the Castle that Hermione finally figured out just what Daphne had meant by her words. She'd said to _trust her_ because she _knew_ what it was like to be unable to keep her hands to herself. With Harry.

Hermione's Harry.

When she figured it out, she was lying on her stomach on his bed, absently reading through the week's proposed DADA lesson. Harry was sprawled out on the room's couch, his head buried in a book about Ancient Runes - officially his new favourite subject.

"Harry?" she said, getting his attention.

It took him a moment to realise she'd spoken, and then another moment to rip his eyes away from what he was reading to look at her. He looked so adorably confused that Hermione suddenly didn't have the heart to bring up her suspicions about what he may or may not have got up to with Daphne Greengrass. All she had to do was remember the whole tie debacle and _know_.

"You know that you can ask me anything, Hermione," he said gently, sitting up and setting his book aside. "We have to talk about things, remember?"

She took a deep breath. "Did you and Daphne ever kiss?" she asked, wary of his response.

Harry's eyes widened for a moment. "Umm, is that what she told you?"

"She didn't necessarily tell me _anything_ , but, well, I'm kind of smart, you know?"

He swallowed. "I do know," he said carefully. Then he sat up straight. "If you must know, yes, we did kiss."

She blinked, suddenly unsure about how she felt about that news. It was one thing to suspect it, and an entirely different thing to know it as truth.

"And before you ask, you should know that it didn't mean anything," he added. "It's the main reason I didn't tell you. The other is that she made me promise, and she's quite scary sometimes. It was just a form of distraction and, well, I was so mad at you and, even though you didn't know about it, I might have used it as a way to hurt you without actually hurting you. Because, despite it all, I was, and am, still madly in love with you."

Hermione slowly sat up.

"Don't be mad," he said cautiously. "I mean, it isn't like you're allowed to be mad, but I've acted irrationally before so, you know, don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," she said. "Just, well, surprised."

"Surprised?"

She nodded. "I was certain that Malfoy would have hexed you by now."

"Oh, he doesn't know," he said quickly. "And I think it's better for everyone if he never does."

Hermione was inclined to agree with that sentiment. There was no saying how Draco Malfoy would react to that fact that his girlfriend had kissed Harry Potter.

"Hermione?" he queried innocently.

"Thank you for telling me, Harry," she said, and then lay back down, returning her attention to her book.

It took Harry a bit longer to return to his own reading but he eventually did. At some point, Hermione got up, moved to kiss the top of his head and then disappeared from the room, leaving him a little confounded.

Twenty minutes later, she returned, dressed in her pyjamas and looking decidedly determined. She didn't say anything as she climbed into his bed, turned off the light on the night table and looked at him. She took a breath. "Is this okay?" she asked softly.

All he could do was nod.

She gave him a small smile before she settled down and closed her eyes.

Harry could only watch in mild amusement. Despite the fact that they'd spent months sharing a bed, this was the first night it had happened willingly since... well, since Corner. And he suspected that she wasn't in his bed because she needed to be, but because she _wanted_ to be.

Harry finished up the fifth chapter of his book and then got ready for bed. It was still rather chilly outside so Harry settled for pyjama pants and a Quidditch jersey. His bed was already warm by the time he climbed into it, and it got even warmer when Hermione shifted into his arms. Her soft sigh tickled his chin and he couldn't help his smile. He decided not to say anything. He rather closed his eyes, let out a content sigh and promptly fell asleep.

Hermione woke up feeling more content than she had in months. She was alone in Harry's room and, when she checked the time, she knew why. He was at Quidditch practice, leaving her to hog his covers.

Of course he would let her sleep in. Despite all they had been through; good sleep was still very precious, and had to be valued. It was odd though. Hermione couldn't help herself from, well, _missing_ him. It was ridiculous, and she felt foolish for even thinking it, but she suddenly had a burning desire to see him.

With that, she rolled over and buried her face in his pillows. She moved her arms to tuck them under the pillows when her fingers closed around a small piece of a paper. It was a handwritten note from Mr Potter himself.

 _I'm still not sure what your thoughts are on what we discussed last night,_

 _but I'm taking the fact that you're still in my bed to be a good sign._

 _I'll see you after practice._

 _I love you._

And that was it, wasn't it? After all this time, he loved _her_.

It was like someone struck her in the chest, the way her body jerked as if she was just now realising what it truly meant to be loved by Harry James Potter. Hermione practically scrambled out of bed, not even bothered to check the time. She raced to her own room, rushed through getting dressed and then made her way down to the Quidditch pitch, intent on seeing him _right then_.

It was, again, irrational, because what she needed to say to him could have waited, but she couldn't bring herself to just sit by and not _tell_ him.

Which was how Hermione found herself on the grass of the famous Quidditch pitch, striding up to where Harry Potter had his team gathered around him for what looked like a very important talk.

"Hey, Potter!" Hermione called out.

Harry turned sharply, too confused by Hermione's appearance on the pitch to register how happy he was to see her. One look at her though, told him that she was there for a very specific reason. Something serious, by the look of it.

"Can I have a word?"

Harry glanced between his gathered team and his... girlfriend. "Kind of busy here, Hermione," he said, his fear of the look in her eye getting the better of him.

"It'll be quick," she said, sounding particularly breathless. Did he always look that good in his Quidditch robes?

Harry hesitated for a moment more before he politely excused himself and made his way over to Hermione. Once he was close enough, he started to talk. "Couldn't this have waited?" he asked curiously. "We've still got to have a practice game."

Hermione just shook her head, and then, surprising just about everyone; she suddenly grabbed for the front of his robes, pulled him towards her and kissed him. Like, _really_ kissed him. Full on the mouth. Right in front of his Quidditch team.

The kiss didn't last all that long, mainly because Harry was too shocked to move at all.

Hermione eventually pulled back, grinned at his bewildered expression, brought her lips up to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Harry. I truly do."

Harry could only watch in surprised paralysis as she released him and stepped back. She was still smiling, widely, but she said nothing more. With one more shake of her head, she turned and started on her way back to the Castle, leaving Harry slack-jawed.

In fact, he was beyond stunned, and it clearly showed on his face as he made his way back to his gathered team. Ginny was practically bouncing from excitement, and he just had the wherewithal to notice the dark look cross Emily's face.

"Umm," he stuttered, his eyes drifting towards Ginny. "Did that really just happen?"

Ginny let out an excited laugh. "Yes, Harry, yes it did."

At that, Harry's face finally broke out into a wide grin, and he clapped his hands in... triumph, maybe. But it was enough to get the team's attention. "Okay then, I think we've talked enough for one day. Let's fly!"


End file.
